Crusade
by arctapus
Summary: What would happen if Frodo had failed? What would become the fate of the world then?
1. Chapter 1

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Title: Crusade (24 Parts)

Author: Arctapus/h-boy

Summary: This story is from the F-Q Fest list of challenges. What if Sauron did get the Ring back during the Fellowship's journey? Aragorn, Faramir, Eomer and Legolas are hiding deep in the Misty Mountains and try to survive while trying to come up with a way to kill Sauron once and for all. Pairing: Aragorn/Faramir, Legolas/Eomer. Thank you, Maeglin Yedi, for the idea.

Codes: LOTR, AU, Violent, Mature rating, slash, epic scope

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On the run ...

The sun went down, the world falling into darkness once more as they rode west, hurrying through the broken lands toward the sanctuary of the mountains. Behind them, in endless shadow, the lands of their forebears lay, overcome by the forces of evil. Gondor had fallen and before that, Rohan. They had done much damage themselves before fleeing, the Nazgul lay dead and so did many thousands of the enemy but the one who cannot be named had prevailed against them.

Frodo must have failed, he considered, fragments of many fears cascading together in his mind. Aragorn pushed the image from his thoughts, casting into some corner of his mind still capable of rational thought all his sorrows for the halflings. It had been a desperate hope and one that had failed. Gandalf had prayed that it would be different, that Frodo and Sam would do what kings of men could not, but it was not to be.

Gandalf.

He was missing, perhaps fallen in the tide of battle on the Fields of Pelennor, that plain that stood between his own crown and the death of them all. They had stood side by side, the heirs of many lands, and struck down thousands but many more came and in the end, the remnants of the army had fled, leaving the city to the enemy. It had been the hardest thing they could have done, this haunting, terrible retreat.

It was dark when they reached the foothills, entering the great forests as they began to appear on shadowed hillsides, marching up the slopes of mountains that had once seemed so safe and familiar. Things had changed, familiar places becoming strange to his eyes and as he rode, Aragorn considered what monsters might be lurking in the darkness around looked back, his heart numbed by the fall of Gondor. Among the dead he had searched for Gimli, finding him nowhere in the time they had to look. Aragorn had grabbed his arm dragging him from the charnel fields and on horseback, with tears in their eyes they gathered their remaining forces and fled.

The city, flames rising in the sky, had emptied in the battle, women and children fleeing in the confusion of the fight. Men had died to make their escape plausible and now they were scattered all about, living who knew how, existing in the new world of terror and darkness all alone.

Gimli must be dead. This was clear in Legolas' mind but he couldn't accept it and so he discounted the thought, calmness suffusing him as he rearranged reality to survive. He would show up some time, walking in with his usual bluster and then things would be easier to bear. Until then, he would continue as best he could in the world where the One Ring was in the hands of the Beast.

***************Rivendell ...

They fled in groups, hurrying away for the sanctuary of the Havens and beyond, all of them filled with anguish and futility. He was the last, Elrond, Master of the great redoubt, along with his closest advisers and his sons. Clad in armor, his sword at his side, his bow and quiver on his back, he stood on the terrace of his home one last was clear with the capture of the Ring by the Enemy that the sanctuaries of the Elves would fall. He knew the moment Morgoth clutched the Ring that the time of peace and hopefulness was over. All of the Ring Bearers, all of them, knew. All of them knew what was coming. As he stood on his terrace, he worried for Celeborn and Galadriel and Thranduil as well for they were closer to the coming dread. They would have to flee as best they could, making their stand with him at the shores of the ocean as their people slipped away by ship.

He sighed raggedly, turning and facing his family, relief that Arwen was in the Grey Havens suffusing him. The end of the world was at hand and he knew it, feeling the doom before any other as it slipped its dark fingers into the sensibilities of all. He nodded and they stepped back watching as he took the torch from Glorfindel's hand, turning and touching a tapestry with its bright back, watching as it ignited, they would retreat through the house, setting flames as they went and by the time they rode away to the west, the house would be engulfed.

***************In the mountain passes ...

They hurried onward, fleeing with gathered humans, the remnants of Rohan and the Dale. Haldir stood by his horse, searching the trail behind them with his eyes and the hills above them as elves and men filed past, hurrying wearily westward to the shores of the sea. He was in charge of their retreat, the Lady and Lord mingled among the refugees, exhorting them to move and keep moving, those that came by land. Many had made for the sea, going by boat, and they would have their trials, their ordeals and their nightmare moments as well before they reached the haven of Cirdan.

They hadn't heard from the Woodland Realm, so quickly did their defenses fall. The Ring had been taken and the Three had failed. They had been cast off, lest their bearers be overtaken by evil. Now all they could do was flee and fight, making for the sea where ships lay. They would be able to leave Middle-earth but the others wouldn't. They were not allowed to come to the shores of Valinor. They would have to be left behind. As he stood in the rain, searching for the Enemy, Haldir of Lorien tried not to think of what would come when the Elves at last were gone.

***************In the mountains ...

They made their way, passing abandoned possessions of people fleeing westward, scurrying toward the sea in a mad, blind rush to whatever refuge might be found. There were carvings here and there, the marks of Elves leaving information behind and he read it eagerly, hoping against hope for the sign he sought, the sign of Gandalf or one of his kind. He didn't find it but he found caves and into them they entered, throwing themselves down in searched the confines, helping the wounded and the numbed, finding a rivulet of water that was fit for drinking. Faramir and Legolas, moving on momentum, pushed people in, dragging exhausted horses by their bridles and reins. Aragorn was last to enter, sword in hand and anguish in his heart as he faded back into the shadows with his water trickled down the mountainside, dripping in slow rivulets to the ground below.

Middle-earth was in agony, in the hands of the Beast. Her creatures great and small, scurried from the darkness, making their way into what shelter there was. It was a dark night in the Misty Mountains, a dark night in the hearts of those left behind all alone.

***************Later that night ...

Faramir sat on a rock, hunched in his cloak, his eyes fixed on the middle distance. Around him, sitting and lying with difficulty on the ground, men and women huddled. Faramir sat numbed, a slight wound on his hand the remnants of battle far away. He didn't see anything around him, so battered and weary was he, but images of other places came unbidden.

Boromir came to him, laughing and handsome, invincible. He was the dearest friend he had ever had, his brother. Boromir had become separated from him, disappearing into the rabble of battle and so he was unclear what had happened to him, his beloved older brother.

His heart ached, fear filling him as he struggled to assimilate their defeat. His father was missing, the men of his household and his brother, Boromir. The Elf lands had fallen, driven westward one by one and in the desolation on Legolas' face, he could see his own uncertainty reflected. Did his father make it out? Was his family safe? What of their homes and fields, their holy places and their refuges? What of their people, women, children, the old? What of the world? What of the future?

He hung his head, tears brimming in his eyes in this low moment of his repute. Nearby, watching with dull eyes, Eomer sat a cup of something hot in his hands. He watched Faramir, noting the slump of his shoulders and felt his despair. His uncle, cousin, friends and colleagues, his sister and the people of his kingdom ... they were missing. He felt despair clutch at his throat and then he pushed it away, staring into the flames and willing hatred to take his heart.

He ached for it, the flame of deep emotion as he sat in the void of his misery. Numbness suffused him and he felt nothing. Even the images in his mind of murder and revenge could not rouse him from his stupor, so deep did the shock of the past few days run. Tomorrow, he considered. Tomorrow, he would rouse. Tomorrow, he would take sword in hand and carve from the belly of their dying world a stroke of revenge so sweet it would live in the annals of the few who would remain giving them heart in the midst of the terror of their slavery.

It was all they could do now, Eomer considered. Glancing to his left, he saw Aragorn kneeling, conversing in a low tone with the Elf, Legolas. His eyes were bleak, the pale cast of his face reflected in the weak light of the fire. Legolas was filled with pain and suffering, his fear for his people, the loss of his friend clear for all to see. Eomer looked away, willing in the clutter of their surroundings, some such privacy for the Elf. He was not given to displays, this Eomer knew, and his openness, his sorrow was painful to see.

Aragorn rose, moving toward him, nodding and squeezing his shoulder as he passed. He had risen to his heritage and they hailed him their leader by acclamation as well as by simple alignment. He had rallied them in the chaos, gathering Rangers, Rohirrim and Gondorians together before making a break for the mountains. They had followed him, riding with fury and determination to the sanctuary of the great spine of rock that divided the world. Over lands both known and unknown, they had ridden with fury, helping their wounded, their weak and their young. Reaching the caverns, finding relief here, though it was temporary, he knew. But it was something. It was something.

Eomer sighed and looked at Faramir, noting in his slumped form some kind of metaphor for the world. They were down and perhaps out but they would not go quietly into the night. As long as he had the strength to wield a sword Eomer of Rohan would fight.

***************Grey Havens ...

Cirdan stood on the dock, watching as Elves crowded onto boats. They were coming now, in the thousands and he was pressed to accommodate them.

Memories came to him, memories of terrible days long past, when children without parents and parents without children crowded his shores, seeking in the Uttermost West the refuge they could not find here.

The sky overhead was cloudy, threatening rain and he stared at it with worry even as the sea lapped at his feet. There would be rough sailing ahead as the ships began to leave, silently witnessed by the humans lining the shore. They had fled too, arriving in the Havens, some with Elvish companions but they could not continue, unwelcome on the shores of Valinor were they.

Instead, they stood silently watching as the Firstborn left, heading into peace and refuge far away. As Cirdan watched them, tears came to his eyes, tears of futility, sorrow and fear. They would be left to face the Beast, left alone to endure the darkness from which the world would never recover.

With a sigh, he turned and helped a child climb the steps of the ship that was filling before him. Soon, he would toss the rope from the dock, watching as it slipped past him. Standing on its upper deck, awash in an agony of tears, Arwen of Rivendell stood. Cirdan watched her, the epitome of sorrow and felt the world crash about his shoulders.

Rain began to fall, droplets in great numbers as the sky wept with them, these fugitives of Earth.

***************In the far east of Middle-earth ...

Sam sat hunched over the tiniest fire he could manage. Lying nearby, dazed with fatigue and injury, Frodo Baggins struggled to live. Samhad pulled him from the attack on the mountainside, Gollum fleeing with the Ring into the smoke. He had bitten Frodo's finger off, taking the Ring with it. Running down into the darkness, he disappeared from sight. Sam, in a frenzy of fear and rage, had pulled Frodo back from the flames of the mountain, back from the suicidal charge into death that he had made in the agony of pain that had enveloped him.

They had staggered down, missing boulders and lava flows, stumbling across the open ground until they found a hollow in the rocks. He had dressed Frodo's hand, laying him on his own cloak and had sat for a day and a half, watching him and waiting to be caught by the enemy.

They didn't come, the beasts of the night, and with gathering hopefulness, Sam had begun to awaken from the torpor of shock, fear and exhaustion that had enveloped them both. He had made a meal with what he had, nursing Frodo as best he could, even as he watched for the fist of the Beast to find was gone, the Ring with him. Even as Sam feared that Sauron might find Gollum, he hoped he would. It would serve him right, to face the Unnamed one alone, Ring or no. But he hoped it wouldn't happen, so devastated would the world become.

Sighing, Sam nursed the fire, while behind him Frodo slept, the siren call of the Ring once more in his head.

***************Far away ...

He fell through the night, a small spark of light in the infernal darkness. The world was of no consequence, so far from its suffering was he. Nothing mattered but falling and letting go. He fell onward ever dropping away until all that he was faded from knowing.

***************In a cave in the Misty Mountains, the next day

"Here. Eat this."

Faramir looked up, meeting Aragorn's concerned eyes. He shook his head but even as he did, he took the plate, more than aware that strength was needed now. He held it, the simple fare that was his lot to eat and sat staring, not noticing Aragorn sitting down beside him. They stared into the fire, shock and exhaustion setting in as they sat in the midst of the slowly subsiding chaos. "You should eat," Aragorn prodded gently.

Faramir nodded, sighing softly. "I know." He glanced at Aragorn, at the sad expression on his face. "It's all over, isn't it. The end of the world has come and it falls to us to face it alone."

Aragorn looked away, into the small curling flames and sighed. "I cannot let it go."

"It has been ripped from us," Faramir sighed, shaking his head sadly."

"Then we must rip it back."

They both glanced up, meeting the determined gaze of Eomer. He knelt down, staring from one face to another. "It falls to us, to the three of us, to lead our people now. We have retreated and will regroup. Tell me that I am not a fool to believe that we can defend ourselves here."

"How can we defend ourselves when Morgoth has the Ring. He *has* to have the Ring now." Faramir sighed, the pounding in his head a visceral thing. "All that we hold dear, family and hearth, its fallen. The Elf lands have fallen. No where on the face of the Earth is there safety."

"Perhaps," Eomer said, his voice steely with resolve. "But we are here and we must do what we can, even if it means that we fail. I will not be giving up nor will I be giving in. If they mean to take me, I will make it a good end, but end it shall be, standing in a sea of dead orcs."

Aragorn smiled slightly, nodding his head. "Our forces are small and ill armed. We do not know where our kinsmen and brothers are. We would have to reorganize to make a stand here. The Enemy might throw all that he has against us, cleaning us out as a broom sweeps away spiders nests."

"Then they come," Eomer said, looking from one face to the other. "We are here, Gondor, Rohan and the Elf lands. We must stand together now or we will die without honor or hope."

It was silent a moment and then Faramir sighed deeply, wincing as if in pain. He nodded, glancing at Aragorn. "We have no hope but we can save a few of the defenseless. The more Elves that make the Falas, that many more shall be saved from murder. Our people here they have no real hope but we can give them a tale to tell when the darkness falls."

Aragorn glanced at Legolas, who was listening to them without comment. "I have no other plan," he said, sighing sadly. "There is perhaps no other option, short of divine intervention, and I doubt if the Valar will come if we call. It falls to us now, the four of us. We must rally our people and make as good an end as we can. Perhaps in the doing, we can draw the pity of Eru."

Legolas sat quietly, his heart aching with sorrow. His family would be making their way toward the sea, he hoped, heading for the Havens as the Darkness crept westward. The journey might already have been made, he hoped, as he tried not to think of the destruction of his home. The men were gathered, talking together. The big man, Eomer, he still had fight. He had rage and fight, as the others did not but he was winning the day with the strength of his resolve.

Legolas rose and walked to their group, kneeling beside Aragorn as he listened to them converse. They were going to gather men, archers and swordsmen and hold the passes so that people could flee. He would be able to tell if his family and people made it, as they would guard the narrow defiles in the craggy and stony mountaintops of the world.

The night wore on, the four huddled together as outside in the big world the fate of millions hung. In the Havens, ships filled, leaving the shores of their homeland forever. In the mountain passes, refugees hurried as best they could. Elven armies led by mighty lords took their people through hard lands, Lothlorien burning behind them and Rivendell as rode at the end of his column, his wife and the children ahead of him as he guarded the van of the bulk of his people. They had left nothing behind, burning and destroying as they passed by, gathering to their numbers the stranglers of Rohan. The rain fell steadily as he sat upon his horse his eyes fixed ever eastward as he prayed to Elbereth.

The day he had never hoped to see was upon them, the sundering of good and evil a real thing before his eyes. He sat tall on his horse, a sword in hand, his kingly raiment shimmering in the downpour. He sat tall and proud, fearless and unflappable, giving by example courage to his the horizon, secure in his tower, Sauron exulted in his newfound form once more

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In the wilderness ...

The sound beyond the river was deafening, as if a beating of drums or spears on shields. Orcs were there, massing along the river, their numbers impressive in spite of their losses over the past few weeks and the war previously. People had fled for days, walking, running and riding what horses they had on their way to the relative safety of the western shore. The Anduin was the demarcation line between the waning territory that was still free and the lands held in thrall by the Enemy.

They stood in the tree line, hundreds of bowmen, armed and waiting for a signal to fire. The Orcs were coming, fording the river at its more shallow points. They would be clambering up the riverbanks vulnerable to attack and when they did, arrows would fly.

These were the patrols that worked this area of the river, making incursions into the still held land of the west probing for weaknesses even as they gathered more strength.

Legolas watched from the edge of the tree line, watching as they began to wade forward. Soon they would be in the right position, the stragglers on the far shore joining them in the water. As the first bunch began to clamber up onto the banks again, he could feel the tension in his archers, the mixed bunch of Rangers, Rohirrim and Elves gathering up their arrows.

They kept coming, all of the beastly clutches moving forward until the final bunches were halfway across. At that moment, Legolas stepped forward, moving into view with arrow and bow in hand. He let it fly, the next one firmly in place and by the time the first hit its target, more arrows had landed.

They had no idea anyone was there, surprise being complete and by the time they turned to run, it was too late. They fell in droves arrows finding their marks and the remaining few that didn't die right away were dispatched with sword and knife.

Legolas stood over an orc, bloody knife in hand. Panting with effort, he stared at the river. There were bodies floating away, dark forms drifting with the current and soon they were gone, taking from view by the water. He watched as his men gathered up their arrows, taking what was useable and leaving the rest.

With a whistle to all, they melted back into the trees, the area falling silent once more, nothing left alive. It was a small blow to the invasion, a stopgap action that would allow more people to escape to the west.

Gathering together, they moved silently toward the higher ground, heading back to the crossroads where they would report their good hunting.

******************At a ford nearby ...

They stared across the open ground, watching the activity of the tower. It had been vastly destructive, the attack of the Ents, and Saruman hadn't been seen since. There was rumor that he had been taken away, either fleeing and or being dragged to Barad-dur. Whatever his fate, Aragorn wasn't unhappy. The wizard couldn't die enough deaths for the pain he had caused.

Sprawled beside him, watching with an intent gaze, Faramir of Gondor reclined. They had come to the fords, determined to assess the threat of the tower and its gathering inhabitants. Orcs had been coming there in steady streams but the course to the tower was littered with pitfalls. Groups of archers harried them as they came and many of them, too many, met premature endings at the hands of skilled bowmen.

There were less than before, even as they knew Sauron was breeding more, the footmen of his new tyranny. They killed them without mercy on the march and at rest, cutting with each well-made shot, the odds into their favor.

Faramir had been tireless, moving from his despair into a manic availability, leading endless sorties against the enemy. Living on little sleep, eating whatever was handed to him, he had been ceaseless in his vigilance and his willingness to fight. Aragorn had drawn him to his side, fearing for his continuance and so they peered over the ridge, watching the tower below.

The Eye was embodied, no longer as keenly sighted as before, relying more and more on minions and beasts on foot. It was a small flaw, a small setback to a being with omnipotent power but enough of a edge to allow them to survive. He was throwing numbers at him, hordes of evil but they managed to hold their own and in some localities, push his forces back.

He crawled back, Faramir following and scurrying forward they mounted their horses. Several men were with them, men of Gondor and Rohan, and together they hurried away, making for a ravine nearby. They entered it, brush being placed as they passed, blocking the view from any passers-by.

Dismounting they gathered together, huddling in a circle as they whispered together. For a moment, they conversed and then several of them left, riding quickly away in the settling darkness of the coming evening. Faramir and Aragorn were left, awaiting confirmation of intelligence gathered earlier. Orcs and Uruk Hai were moving to make a garrison, reinforcing the tower for forward attacks.

Scouts were tracking them, Legolas was attacking them and by the time the month was finished, they had hopes to build a pale. Cross this line, you will die. That is what they hoped, as ever more people moved west. Some were beyond reach, already enslaved by the Beast. Others were moving, living like animals on the run. Beasts of the field and air, animals both wild and domesticated wandered into still free lands of the fading west. They were harnessed by desperate people, many of them happily and ever toward the sea they continued.

Aragorn stared at the sky, Faramir sitting beside him quietly as he watched the moonrise in the sky. The bright star of Earendil, sailing as ever across the ocean of night beamed its silver light to him. He considered his ancestor, moving across a changed world, and he wondered if Earendil would know of their fate. He hoped so but he doubted it, doubting because he dared not hope. There was no way out of the darkness now, this never-ending night that was descending. What puzzled him the most was why it was taking so long to lose.

"What do you suppose will happen?"

Aragorn glanced at Faramir, his face obscured by the darkness. "In the end?"

Faramir nodded, though he could not be clearly seen. "How long do you suppose we have before we die here in this place, this ending of the world?"

Aragorn shrugged, staring at his boot. "I do not know.""Your family ... what happened to them?"

The anguish in Faramir's voice was unmistakable, a sorrow that cut through the darkness and coiled around Aragorn's heart. They were both exhausted, wearied and worn. The burden had fallen to them and to the other two, Eomer and Legolas, and they had little respite from the endless toil."

I have no family besides myself. Any other kin, though they are very distant, have sailed for the Undying Lands by now."

"It was said that you had a fair lady in Imladris, an Elf maiden of great beauty."

"She's long gone, sailing with her remaining kin," Aragorn said. It was quiet a moment. "I am glad that she did. I feared that she would not but her father and other relatives have prevailed."

"They go there every day, leaving us behind. I do not know what would be worse ... staying here to a fate like our own or going away to safety, knowing what was happening here."

Aragorn nodded, sighing. "Both are hell."

They sat together, silent and weary, and then Faramir sighed, his voice soft with sorrow. "I miss my brother," he whispered as tears stung his eyes. "I lament for him every day."

"Boromir was a good man," Aragorn said, reaching out and squeezing Faramir's hand. "I did not know him well, but of what I did know I respected."

"He was my friend," Faramir sighed, shaking his head sadly. "I don't know what has happened to all that I loved, but I know they must have died, killed in the fall of the city. I am alone in the world, this collapsing small world and I feel as alone as ever I have in my life."

Aragorn sat a moment and then moved closer, slipping his arm around Faramir's shoulders. "We will make our stand and what comes, will come. You are not alone, Faramir."

Faramir sighed raggedly, rubbing his eyes with his hands. "I am sorry," he said sadly, shaking his head. "I do not want to burden you further."

"You haven't," Aragorn replied, smiling slightly. He leaned his forehead against Faramir's cheek, the warmth of the touch of another being incalculable. "I do not mind."

Faramir closed his eyes, his pain lightening with the touch of the king. He had given Aragorn that honor in his mind, granting to the tall regal man that which he had earned by his valor. It might never come to pass now, the formalization of this title and position, but Faramir gave it to him anyway.

It was quiet a moment and then Aragorn sighed, rubbing his cheek against Faramir's. Faramir didn't move, he didn't protest the affection, closing his own eyes as he absorbed it. Aragorn was solid, real and warm. He turned his face slightly, the other's breath soft against his lips and then they touched, finding each other in the darkness. He pressed against Aragorn, forgetting for that moment all but the force against him, the passionate kiss that devoured his will.

A firm hand pressed him down, as a strong body moved to cover him, their kiss unbroken as they settled on the hard ground. Faramir relaxed, allowing Aragorn's touch as the older man sought his skin. A strong hand, calloused and relentless, slipped past his jerkin, caressing his chest. He moaned and sighed, the older man pausing.

Aragorn stared down at Faramir, at half shuttered eyes and flushed cheeks. He felt searing pain, the burden of his responsibilities and the hopelessness of their fight overwhelming him. Then he closed his eyes, leaning down to the warmth that Faramir represented and shut out the terrors of the world around them. He moved against Faramir, sighing softly as he sought to make the firmest contact that he could. He found it, grinding against the slim lanky figure beneath him, feeling warmth suffuse him at the sounds he made.A deep guttural groan, a tensing of his body, the feel of strong legs moving up to grip him ... these things he got back as he thrust against Faramir, his mouth relentless in pursuit of pleasure. He groaned himself, his fire building as his orgasm grew in the middle of his body. Then there was a sound near him and he froze, the strong legs holding him falling away as the body they belonged to tensed as if to fight.

Faramir rose slightly, pressing against Aragorn, their faces nearly touching as they looked over his was silent a moment and then the sound turned to flapping as a night owl rose in the air and flew away. Faramir let out his breath, turning his gaze to the side, his cheek rasping across the stubble of Aragorn's face. Their lips met, a desperate joining and then they lay back and the dance continued. He grunted his pleasure against the body beneath him and when he felt the fire engulf him he groaned low and long. Faramir twisted, arching in relief and the sound of Aragorn's voice was a dull moan in his ear.

He sighed and felt limp, his arms and legs falling to the damp earth as once more his senses kicked in. Aragorn was still moving, then he was still and they lay shattered like glass on the ground. Faramir encircled Aragorn, his arms enclosing him as his fingers threaded through the dark hair of his partner's head. He gripped it tightly, a soft gasp from Aragorn his only reaction and then he let go, his arms falling away.

Aragorn raised up, staring down at his partner, at his pale reddish lashes and his flushed fair skin. He was breathing raggedy, his red lips parted and to Aragorn at that moment, he was everything that mattered in the world. There was no worries and cares, no responsibility and no fear. There was just the masculine body beneath him and the dark sky above. He relaxed, the arms returning as strong hands idly ran the length of his back. Up and down, pausing to touch him, to explore and to know, the hands went on. Aragorn closed his eyes, sprawled between Faramir's legs as they lay together, unwilling to move.

But at last they did, both sitting up together, their eyes cast aside until Aragorn paused. He reached out and took Faramir's hand, holding it and squeezing it as they sat together silently. Faramir glanced at him then he stared held by dark eyes and in them, he saw what he knew he reflected.

Gratitude, plain and simple. Gratitude for the moment, for the chance to feel alive again before the world slammed back in. He leaned forward and kissed Aragorn on the lips, over and over and over again. Aragorn closed his eyes, joining the tenderness as for the moment together they held back the darkness.

Overhead, the stars continued, the bright one in particular as down below on the land, night steadily came. The shadow of the Beast, implacable and draining, straining color from the living world, as ever forward it crept. It was hedging closer every day, taking life and delivering death and terror, horror and sorrow, giving back nothing in its wake.

But in the shallow recess, lying spooned together, Faramir of Gondor and Aragorn held each other. Faramir rested his head on his arm, his hand entwined with Aragorn, as the King lay behind him, close to his warmth. Lying in the darkness, with no hope for a future, Faramir resolved to serve where he could. He would be the King's shadow, his guardian, his companion and when he needed it most he would be his lover.

They might not last forever, or for a while, or even days, but Faramir of Gondor resolved to last to the bitter end. He closed his eyes, falling into an exhausted sleep but for the first time since the coming of the end, he didn't dream. He didn't see Boromir or his father or his city. He didn't see the terror and the horror around him. He saw younger days, when things were much better and for a while Faramir rested, wrapped in warmth.

***************On the shore of the Undying Lands ...

He stood and watched, a tall and kingly figure, ever searching the ships as they came into the harbor. Always they came, shocked and shattered, wandering from the boats in a haze of tears. They carried very little, sometimes only their children but they were welcomed with care, gentleness and soft kindly voices.

Thousands of them came and thousands more waited. He had sent ships east, something he had never thought he could make happen, so great were the objections from those who shared power. It had overcome their reservations, this disaster repeating, coming home at last, this exile in reverse. They were hurt, many of them and their tales were tragic, but he couldn't commit more to the disaster, not yet. He was looking for someone who could help them understand this and find among the ashes some path for them to take.

He stood, the wind blowing against his face as he searched another ship, with his eyes, the latest to come from the lands of the east. He wasn't on board, the one that he sought and so he sighed with frustration as he turned to walk back up. They nodded to him, many of those that helped, knowing full well who the great man was and his commitment to the exiles.

He was tall and black-headed, keened eyed and kingly, as such was the lord that Gil-galad was. He came to the docks when the ship would come in, searching for the single Elf that he longed to see. He hadn't come yet and the news wasn't promising but he had no sense that Elrond's death had occurred.

The sea lapped against the shore, the gray sky overhead threatening rain as he turned at the top of the stairs to look out. His robe was thrown back, his white tunic brilliant, a counterpoint to the drabness of the world all around him.

Tomorrow, he considered, he would come to the docks and he would search the ships for the one that he sought. He would come every day, forever if need be, until at long last Elrond Peredhel was home once more

=0=

It was becoming lighter in the steel-gray sky as he stood on the dock, Cirdan beside him, the two watching the struggle as it surged ever toward them. The people were fleeing without dignity, that having been stripped from them on the trail and as he stood watching the endless streaming of men, women and children, he saw someone he hadn't dared hope to see. Elrond nodded to Cirdan and hurried up the wharf, pausing beside a stairway for people to pass. Then he hurried up the steps, moving against the tide as he made his way to Thranduil, standing alone at the top.

People let him pass, their shocked eyes shimmering with their stories as he clambered past, reaching Thranduil at last. The Elf was his usual stately self, his arm bandaged from a wound and he nodded to Elrond, moving to one side to talk.

"Thranduil, what news of your county?" Elrond asked, even though he dreaded to know."

burned it, Elrond," he said, his voice tight with emotion as he moved slightly to let people pass.

On the hillside above them, standing in silent witness, row upon row of people watched. There were thousands of humans living in desperation along the seashore from the Havens both north and southward but only a few among them that begged to go to the Undying Lands. They all knew better, that futility ever conscious in their minds as they watched their woodland comrades fleeing their doom. Elrond looked up, staring at them with dread, more than aware that for them there was no hope.

"They stand there like crows ready to pick a carcass but it's as if they have no idea that the body will be theirs." Thranduil sighed and turned to the sea, watching as his family boarded a ship. "My son is missing, my son, Legolas. He was in Gondor when the Beast overcame the world. I can only assume that he is in the care of Mandos," he said, his voice tight with rage and grief. "Anything less than that is unbearable."

Elrond sighed, closing his eyes. He had put his sons on a ship, much against their will. They had been part of the retreat, keeping order and fighting the enemy and now they were safely away from Middle-Earth. He had been assured Arwen was gone but he couldn't go without Celeborn and Galadriel and even then he was unsure if he could go at all. The land of his fathers and the land of his long years was now defenseless and he felt desperate to do something.

He had ordered his sons forward with a message in his own hand, begging them to take it to the lords of Valinor. They must come and help, they *must* he had insisted and finally, in defeat, they had boarded and left. The mists had swallowed them and his relief had been enormous until he had turned and looked up at the solemn gallery on the cliff sides.

"When are you leaving?" Thranduil asked, his haunted eyes staring out to sea.

"I do not know," Elrond replied, shaking his head in sadness. "I am not sure that I will leave. How can I go with the world like this and no one to stop it."

"There *is* no stopping it, Elrond. We all lived on borrowed time. The inevitable has arrived and we must do what we can. One kindred will live and one will not. Men will pay for the folly of our own kind."

"That is why I *cannot* leave," Elrond said, his voice tight with conviction and then he turned and looked at Thranduil as hope rose in his heart. "Go to Valinor. Tell what is happening. Beg them to come and help these people. We just cannot *go*, Thranduil and leave the world this way. All the years and all the people, they don't deserve this fate."

Thranduil looked at him, weariness suffusing him but he nodded anyway. "I was going to do that, Elrond, for Legolas. My son is dead; at least, that is what I am going to believe. It is too terrible a burden to think anything else. I will go to Valinor and I will beg them to do something but do not hold your breath, Elrond of Imladris."

Elrond nodded and gripped Thranduil's arm, their eyes holding in sorrow and suffering for a moment. Then Thranduil nodded and stepped forward, limping to the ship that held his family and Elrond's hopes.

The wind was brisk and it stung his face as he stood watching. For a few moments he had hope and then he turned, staring up the hill at the silent multitudes watching, their eyes a condemnation of his people and their hope.

***************In the mountains ...

They moved on, hitting and running, husbanding their forces as they made the enemy pay. Dear was their progress, bought by their own blood and the rebels made them pay for the territory they gained. The river was their pale, its western shores no man's land and the enemy made their assaults with varying and Eomer were partners in the fighting, leading their bowmen along the length of their lines. Eomer was less the archer than horseman nonpareil, but he learned quickly and advanced his skills. At night they would hide, watching through the trees to the encampments nearby and when an orc would leave the protection of the fire, they died. It was unsettling to the enemy, their confidence shaken and so the stalemate worked, holding them at bay.

It was dark when they found their positions, having crept like cats in the woods to the edge of the encampment of orcs that had come up during the day. They had faded ahead of them, letting them inside the forest and by the time they had settled, there were bowmen on every side. Eomer watched, Legolas beside him and with the shorthand born of experience, they moved apart and away. Down the line, signaling to their archers, the two captains crept as they sent ahead the in the center, around a huge fire they sat, growling and arguing as they waited for the dawn. They didn't know they were surrounded and they had no idea they would die that night before the first arrow found its target and the camp exploded into shouts.

Furious and hopeless, they called to the heavens, crouching, standing and running they died. Those that tried to make for the river were slain in the darkness by sword and by bow. For twenty minutes it was horrific and then it was silent as in the camp of the Uruks, few remained alive.

Legolas moved forward, knife in hand. Around him bowmen followed armed. He dispatched three as the others were slain and then they dragged them into a pile and set it ablaze. Eomer watched, a black bag in his hand and turned to Legolas, holding it up."They had a pouch."

Legolas nodded. "We better get it to Aragorn as soon as we can."

Turning and moving away, they walked into the darkness, fading like shadows in the woods once more.

***************Barad-dur ...

He stood by the window, staring out at the darkness, reveling in the sensation of having sensation once more. He had been so long without form that he was disoriented and clumsy. His wounds from the ages were still with him and even though he had the Ring, he wasn't in a hurry to act. He wanted to feel again, the entire pleasure of being formed again and turning, he walked to the mirror once stood before it, an aged and ancient being and studied himself closely, his eyes critical of everything. He was tall, much taller than any man living, long-limbed and sinewy rather than muscular. He had skin that was aged, thick and tanned like leather and scars dotted his hide like tattoos. He was shorn of hair, his pate gleaming in the candle light and his eyes were like fire, smoldering with their cruelty, endless and deep.

They didn't contain wisdom, but lust, hatred and satisfaction. At long last he had won, taking the world away from his enemies. Even Melkor hadn't done that, succeeding in the end, he exulted in his penultimate victory. Orcs came and went, bringing him news and sustenance but he barely noticed, so focused was he on himself. He looked at his hand with its missing finger and thought about the tall man that had taken it from him.

Isildur. Isildur's bane.

The Ring on his finger soothed him with its fiery touch. He had hunted it for ages, through oceans of time and he had found it, his heart line, on the hand of a .The beast, a little wasted creature, he had his Precious and had tried to run away, seeking refuge from his all-seeing eye. But he, himself, had been too cunning, finding him through his minions and when he had been brought to him here, Gollum had resisted. Defying him even when the Ring was taken, Gollum made his last stand and as Sauron watched him, he knew what he would do. He would punish the little cur in the most personal of ways, dispatching him to a death that no one should face.

He ordered his men to take him to Shelob and there in her lair, leave him behind to face her alone. Shelob had been hurt, perhaps mortally or no and she would be in no mind to distinguish between friend or enemy. Gollum's fate would be in her hands, his life or death hers to decide and he would have his Ring and his other problems as well.

Gollum had been carried off, his screams balm to Sauron's soul and so the Beast had turned and bent his will to another. Scanning the world, seeking just the right one, he summoned his wizard and sent forces to bring him back. He could sense Saruman's frenzy, his fear and his terror so he gave to Saruman his good will and soothing sensations of friendship to lull his frantic spirit.

Come to Barad-dur and share with me my victory, join in the pleasures that are ours alone. He could feel the dilemma in Saruman's mind but in the end he capitulated as he always had before. Sauron studied his face, with its pits and its scars, unavoidable injuries over the eons of time. Perhaps he would do something about that, making over his battered remains, painting a new portrait of the lord of the stood and studied himself, fascinated by his reflection after eons of disembodiment in the darkness of his tower.

Soon Saruman would be here, brought with haste by his army and then he would pay in the most extreme ways he could devise. He had dared to desire *his* Ring and to make effort to get it and this he couldn't allow to pass by the moment Saruman came, Sauron would wait and feel the terror of the world as he gathered his strength and his scattered forces together. The Ring was content to be with him forever and it gave to him what it could of his old power and strength. But Sauron wasn't hasty, he wasn't in a hurry nor did he care that not all of the world was under his strict and merciless control.

Eventually it would be, the remaining free lands and when it was over he would encamp in all the capitals of the world. He would spread his domain and all that he was, his tentacles of blasphemy overcoming the good. In the end, it was inevitable, the darkening of the light and he would sit unchallenged on the throne of Middle-Earth. Until then, he could be forgiven for taking time to acclimate to the sensations of touch, hearing, smelling and taste. He would look at things in detail, his person and his possessions and when the time was right, he would ride forth in dread.

***************Outside the walls of Orthanc ...

He wore a beggar's clothing, carrying a walking stick of wood. His powers were gone and he had nowhere to go. The Havens wouldn't take him, this traitor to all and so he had no choice but to hide in the mountains. Beside him, limping, Grima Wormtongue hurried, willing himself to keep up with the were in desperate circumstances with no place to hide but his fear drove him on and so he followed his master. Saruman didn't look from the left to the right, but kept up a pace that belied his years. They would hide in the mountains, in caves and other places until he could find a way to ingratiate himself with Sauron again.

There had to be a way to redeem himself with the demon, a way to ensure that he didn't spend eternity in torment. He would find it somehow because there was no way out, no turning back, no gamble left to would be no way for him to return to Valinor, no way for the Valar to forget or forgive. The world had fallen and he had been on the winning side but in all of the debacle there could be no bigger loser. He had hoped to rule the world or at least some part of it but it wasn't to be without a miracle in hand. As he hurried along the road, the thin moon overhead, Saruman of Isengard plotted and schemed.

***************On the shores of Valinor ...

They stepped from the ships, staggering up the docks, moving like numbed cattle in the darkness of the night. They came every day, more and more of them and more of the ships had begun to go back. There had been a huge disagreement but Gil-galad had prevailed, pursuing rescue without relief as he watched for had been centuries, years uncounted, since he had the pleasure of the Peredhel's company. They had been comrades and then friends and inevitably lovers, spending every minute of their time together until Rivendell became necessary. A refuge and a forward base, tied in with Lothlorien and the Woodland Realm of Thranduil and Oropher, it had been his home away from home in the ceaseless travel he had to make.

They had such an abiding connection that the first real thought in his mind when he came back from his sojourn with Mandos was Elrond. Gil-galad could feel all the sorrows and the decisions, the pains and payments of everything he ever did in his long, hard life. The weight of the burdens and the trials of his battles and the crushing and brutal ending of his own long life. But like a cool breeze in his mind, like a silver thread connecting all of it was the tender regard and the wise dark eyes of the only person he had ever loved.

He couldn't come back to his old life, when he came to his senses and stepped into the sunlight of the living world again. He wasn't allowed to go east, though he considered it daily, his waking hours consumed with finding Elrond once more.

Others had cautioned him, warning him of Elrond's marriage as Galadriel and Celeborn's relatives eyed him coolly. He didn't care then and he didn't care now, so many days of his return taken up with pacing the beaches, staring into the east and aching with had lost his soul mate, his lover and his friend, the only one who understood him and knew without speaking what was needed and not. No one else in the length of his great life had ever touched him so deeply and no one else would, this he knew for certain. He was given counsel by many. Take a wife, do something noble, rule a desmense, work in crafts, lead the people here and make a new life. But it wasn't enough, or even a little because the biggest part of his heart was still in the world beyond the sea in the shrouded mists of the east.

Elrond would come, this he knew. Gil-galad had watched the children arrive, a tall beautiful girl and two handsome grim boys. They were like him and not, something of Celebrian in each and when they greeted each other, he felt pain in his heart. Turning away, he searched other boats, scrutinizing each Elf as they disembarked.

He hadn't come. Not on this day and the others but he would come, Gil-galad thought, if he remained alive. He pushed that thought away, not willing to be frightened anymore than he was willing to live alone forever.

If Elrond didn't come back, if he was lost in the fall of the free lands, Gil-galad wondered if he would survive his sorrow. As it was, if he came, it would be difficult to say the least. The war, Celebrian and all the rest was in chaos. So was his heart, he considered, as he watched Thranduil walk toward him, climbing the steps to where the King stood alone.

Thranduil paused, holding out his hand and Gil-galad grasped it, gripping it hard. "I bring you greetings from Elrond," he said, pausing as the emotion on Gil-galad's face surged.

Gil-galad closed his eyes, clutching Thranduil's hand and then he nodded, turning away. "The Peredhel lives?"

"Yes, he does," Thranduil said, his voice tired and sorrowed as he thought of his son, lost in the east. "He wants me to beg you to come to our rescue, to save the world from the Beast at Barad-dur."

Gil-galad turned, nodding curtly. "Then we better get going," he said.

The two men turned and walked up the steps, where at the top stood waiting, Oropher. Thranduil turned, pausing in his tracks as the beloved figure of his father came to view. Gil-galad squeezed his arm, pressing him forward and Thranduil climbed up, embracing Oropher tightly.

Gil-galad watched, sighing with sadness even as he rejoiced at the small joy before him. He turned and looked at the sea, willing the mists to part so that he could see where his heart still lay. The breeze was cool and he stood thinking, gathering his arguments as he considered what to do. It didn't occur to him not to try, even though he had not been successful in any of his efforts on this topic so far.

It was enough that Elrond lived and that he sought his help, for him to gird himself for battle once again. With a sigh, he turned and began to climb again, to gather his forces for the battle ahead.

=0=

In the forest of the Golden Wood ...

The towering city was ashes upon the ground, piles and piles of them as the rain fell relentlessly. Rivulets of moisture in the dark smelly mounds of soot and blackened wood carved ruts that flowed into the darkened foliage surrounding the trees where people once lived. The sour-smelling dark pasty mess mixed with the water and the sticky going was difficult, slowing the new master as he surveyed his domain. Lothlorien, the golden city of the Elves, it was his now and he meant to stay a while.

Orcs scurried, many of them coming days ahead of him and they had built a shelter for him to live in while he considered what form his permanent local residence would be. Sauron was on tour, going through his newly won lands, languidly taking messages of resistance from abroad with only marginal interest. No one could withstand him for very long and he would be there soon enough so he delegated those cares to another part of his mind for settlement later.

Right now, there was the kingdom of Celeborn to explore, the beautiful kingdom of the Lady of the Wood. There was nothing much left to tell that anyone had lived here, all the buildings were destroyed and burned on the ground and from in the trees. Care had been taken to spare the trees and plantings but the effect was the same ... utter desolation.

He was mildly perturbed and so he relegated Celeborn to a dark and terrible punishment, stored in his memory for a later date. Galadriel would be his, to kill or not, that is, if they didn't sail to the Undying Lands. They probably would, fleeing his magnificent and triumphant vengeance, but no matter about that. He had all the world and even as he considered this, he didn't consider Valinor exempt so filled with confidence was he in the completeness of his victory.

He entered the tent, sitting on an ornate chair, pulling a boot from his foot and tossing it aside. He felt the soft carpet beneath his toes and sighed with the pleasure of touch once more. He didn't remove his other boot, the one that cradled his wounded foot and for a moment, his hatred of Elves tormented him. Then he pushed it away as servants brought him food and drink, spoils of war in the empty forest sanctuary. It was silent but for their own actions, for the forest had been vacated, from Lothlorien to Mirkwood to Rivendell and beyond. It was all his now and he savored it deeply as he sat in his tent and listened to the rain dripping off the canopy above him.

***************At a great house in Valinor ...

The fire was warm and he sat before it, others he could count on arrayed around him. Glorfindel had arrived, bringing Erestor and other lords of Imladris, Lothlorien and the Woodland Realm. A knock on the door signaled more visitors and Erestor rose, opening the walked tall figures, one familiar and two not and all rose to greet them. Thranduil and Oropher nodded gravely, their mourning garments signaling the loss of Thranduil's son. Behind them, staring at him with dark and intense eyes, the sons of Elrond waited beside their grandfather.

Celeborn stepped forward, bowing slightly and gripped Gil-galad's hand tightly. "My Lord Gil-galad. It is good to see you again at long last although the circumstances of our meeting gives me great grief."

Gil-galad nodded, sighing deeply. "I am filled with pleasure at your company again, Lord Celeborn. Hopefully, we can do something about the latter."

He turned and gazed at the boys, grown men and strong and they stepped forward, bowing slightly. "My lord," one of them said, looking at himchallengingly."

You are? Forgive me. I have never been good with twins," Gil-galad replied as memories of other times and other eyes similar plagued him for a moment before being ruthlessly repressed.

"I am Elladan," he replied. He turned and nodded to his brother. "This is Elrohir. We are the sons of Elrond of Imladris."

There was a formality to his tone that belied his manners and Gil-galad wondered for a moment what they might know of the past.

"I am honored to meet the sons of my good friend and comrade. I trust that your mother is well and settled."

"She is with our grandmother, Galadriel of Lorien," the one called Elrohir replied -galad nodded, ignoring the coldness in the youngster's voice. He gestured for them to sit and they did, mostly, in clearly drawn lines, perching near their grandfather on benches by the fire. He watched them, noting their tension and quelled his own ennui, forcing his mind back to the matter at hand. As he sat, he searched them looking for some sign of their father and none could he find, but in the dignity of their manner. They were Celebrian's sons through and through, he considered.

Oropher watched them, sitting as he did beside his son and he wondered again how much he had missed during the years he was gone. It was silent a moment and then Gil-galad leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He gathered his thoughts and then sat back, a different expression on his face. Gone was the man, the person who was like them and in its place was the High King of the Noldor. They watched him, the transformation fascinating and they all knew that the time for personal grievances was over.

"The world is in agony and we are facing the greatest moral crisis of our people since the creation of the One Ring. We can all flee here and forget what is happening or we can step forward and stand with those who cannot against the coming of the night that will last forever," he said in a soft voice. "Of course, we do not have to. I am sure there will be many who will say so but if we are to be considered a moral people we have our obligations to others than just ourselves."

It was silent a moment and then Gil-galad rose, walking to the fireplace before turning around. "In our moment of need, the Elendili came to help us and we have to return the favor or how can we live here? It would all be a lie." He turned and gazed at the fire. "There are people dying and being harmed not far from this shore. You know it and I do. What we have to decide among ourselves is whether or not it is our business. I would not be contented living here if we decide we have no part. I would rather be there, sword in hand, standing with the remnants of the people that are left."

It was silent a moment and then Oropher cleared his throat. "You would propose that we go to their aid," he said, watching the big man carefully.

"What other moral position is there? We *do* consider ourselves moral beings, creatures with the ability to distinguish right from wrong. For us to ignore the suffering of others is to make a lie of what we hold most sacred. I truly defy anyone to make an argument that refutes in a meaningful way those sentiments."

"You will not get an argument from us," Thranduil replied, shifting in his chair. "You are singing to the choir, Ereinion," he said. "My own sentiments are probably less exulted. I want revenge, pure and simple, for the murder of my son."

Elladan watched them, remembering his father and then he stood up and walked to the window nearby. Staring out at the sea, he considered his words and turned to them, a look of defiance on his face. "My father is abroad, suffering who knows what. He burned the house in the valley, setting it with his own hand rather than letting Imladris fall to the Enemy. We left him in the Havens, on the dock. We would go back and kill all the orcs we can before they kill us in turn if we were in charge of our own destiny. We would do that for our mother's suffering and for the suffering of all. It is only the command of our father that brings us here."

"So it would appear that we are in agreement," Gil-galad said, nodding his head. "Now the hard part begins, convincing others until we are formidable enough to face the Beast."

"We cannot defeat him," Celeborn replied. "We cannot defeat the power of the Ring and his own innate ability. He's not of our kind," he said, shaking his head, his anger surfacing as he thought of his beloved Wood smoldering in the rain by his own command. "He is of another kind, more powerful than us and he will kill us all before we get very far. He did with the Ring and it was only chance that Isildur cut it off his hand. He has consolidated himself and only with the assistance of the Valar can we hope to overcome him without annihilating ourselves."

"We would need that kind of help and to get it we would have to enlist allies from among those here now," Gil-galad replied. "For some of us, that would mean treading on friendships and kinships. For others, that would mean going directly to the source of our hopes."

"You would go to Manwe?" Elrohir asked, surprise in his voice.

"I would go to Iluvatar if I could," Gil-galad said with conviction. "But there is one who needs be here to make connections in my stead. Elrond needs to come and make our case."

It was silent a moment and the tension from the twins was high. Elrohir rose and stood before them, staring coldly at the High King. "Our father is a married man now. He has a wife and obligations to his children."

Gil-galad stared back, his gaze unwavering. "Personal matters have no place among us at this time."

"They do," Elrohir insisted. "This *matters*."

"Personal matters have no_ place_ now," Gil-galad said, moving to stand before the youngster. "*You* have no place in *any* discussion of your father's personal affairs. It is *his* business and not your own."

The room crackled with tension as Elladan moved to stand behind his brother and then he put his hand on Elrohir's shoulder, the youngster nearly flinching from the contact. Then he turned and walked to where his grandfather sat, standing behind him with his brother at his side.

Gil-galad watched them a moment and then glanced down at Celeborn, for once the big Elf's emotions hard to read. He turned and walked to his chair, sitting wearily. "There is no *time* for this now."

"I agree," Celeborn said at last, sitting up straighter in his chair. "Later, in better times if they come," he said for the benefit of his grandchildren, before rising to pace back and forth across the room. He was like a tiger, his anger barely checked as he considered the destruction of the world he had left behind. "This cannot go unchallenged. What would stop him from turning his eyes to this realm and besides, there is always the question of the One whom I will not name."

"He would not be able to free him. He is in the Void."

"Can you guarantee that to me and to my family? Is it no longer a part of the hope of the world for the Valar to act in concert with us? What is the point of this sanctuary if there is injustice and terror beyond our shores? Are we not *all* children of Iluvatar?"

Cirdan shifted in his seat, Galdor of the Woodland Realm also as the two men frowned at Celeborn's words. Glancing at each other, Cirdan straightened, glancing at Gil-galad as he spoke. "You sound as if you are losing your faith, Celeborn. I would feel grief untold if somehow this was your fate in these trying times. We have faced many trials in our lives together. I do not recall hearing you so devoid of hope."

"Perhaps I *am* losing my faith, brother. How can there *be* hope now if there is no concerted effort by *all* of us, the Valar included, to turn back the night? My homeland, my *realm* ... I *burned* it with my *own hands*. It lies in ashes and despair, no trace of our lives beyond the mounds of our dead left behind to tell the world that once in this space, in this *spot*, there was grace and beauty and *life*." Grief suffused his expression as he stood by the window, pausing in his pacing as he thought of Caras Galadhon. Elladan watched him, this powerful force of nature and felt his despair. It appalled him in ways he had never countenanced before. "Is it only my faith I will lose, living here in this place, knowing that over the seas people are living in wretchedness because they cannot come here? What about *honor*? What about obligation? If there is no hope, then there cannot be faith."

"This is all the more reason that Elrond must come here and appeal to the Valar to intercede," Gil-galad replied.

Celeborn sighed, nodding his head. "I am not the emissary to carry the message. Someone more gifted that way should do it. Elrond is the choice I would make myself."

"Then we must send a message for him to come to us," Gil-galad replied, rising and looking from one face to the next. "You must send the message, Cirdan, on one of your ships going to the Havens. It must go immediately."

Cirdan looked at him and with a sigh, nodded, rising. "I will tell him myself."

Gil-galad sighed, the first obstacle overcome and then he considered the very hard one ahead. They would have to appeal not only to the Valar for help but also the Elves that lived here and had never left, those that had and returned and their offspring as well. The trials ahead were enormous with no hint of success guaranteed.

***************Elsewhere ...

The rain was falling in a steady drizzle, making misery for those who had found their way this far. They had been creeping westward, heading under cover of darkness toward the relative sanctuary of the mountains. The war in the east had been lost, the great city of the Stewards falling to the Enemy and as they moved westward, they did so with deep sorrow and rage.

He led them, the big man who had gathered them together and onward they went, slipping past the enemy, hiding from his hordes and taking from the land what they could to survive. Hiding in ravines during the day, or what passed for it, they traveled by horse and on foot, jogging along behind, during the long and black evenings.

The Nazgul had been gone for some time, their night flying no longer a worry. The miles of land that melted away seemed endless but eventually they found the mountains in sight. They also found small orc patrols and those that couldn't be eluded were set upon and eliminated. He had been a pillar to his group and they had added more as they went, so by the time they reached the foothills they were a tightly knit, if rag-tag on the lip of a hill, sword in hand, Boromir of Gondor searched the land ahead. They would be entering scrub trees and bushes, moving toward the high up land and its thick covering of trees. Soon they would be safer and then they would consider what to do next. All they had to do was continue and survive. Surely, in the mountains there were others like didn't think of the past, of his family and his brother. It was a given that they were dead now and he had to live. He had to lead the people. He had to be the strong one and he had to exact revenge from the murderers of his world. Swallowing hard, pushing his hunger and fatigue back, he led his men down the small hillside to the mountains beyond.

***************In the Emyn Muil ...

They stumbled along, meeting nearly no resistance as they went back through the harsh land of the needle rocks. They had stumbled through the swamp, god only knowing how they made it, if not pure luck, then Sam's indomitable will. Frodo was no help, hurt, exhausted and numbed with pain and so it fell to him to take the were heading for the Shire, come hell or high water and even though Sam knew they would never see it they were determined to try. If they were going to die here in the end of the world, it would be surrounded by family, friends and their homelands of field, orchard and stream.

It was very dark, even in the day when they continued through the fissures, ever wending toward the highlands that seemed so far away. They continued on, not knowing that behind them a small figure and a number of men from Gondor were following. Gimli, son of Gloin, his arm bandaged from an orc arrow, grimly climbed and marched with the bowmen of Osgiliath.

They were going to the west, to the mountains where they might hide and rest and regroup with who knew who else. There was no hope in the low lands of the east and the south and so they pressed forward, climbing slowly upward. The marshes had been avoided and they had gone the long way, but they were closing the gap between Frodo and Sam. In two days they would hear Sam's voice coaxing Frodo and Gimli would run as fast as he could to catch up to them.

He would stand and stare in amazement as Frodo lay on the ground in pain, with Sam standing over him, Sting in hand. The reunion would be brief, the pleasure and joy momentary but the resolve of that moment would carry them through. In a week, they would be in the mountains, moving along trails only dwarves knew as they hurried toward a secret place only Gimli could find.

It would be three weeks before they would learn of Aragorn and Legolas and when they did, the three would set out once more.

***************In a cave, late one night ...

Faramir sat quietly, his back to the cave wall. They had been out all day harrying the enemy. Now they were going again, down to Isengard, expecting to find anything possible there. Eomer and Legolas had returned from their hunting and brought a black bag captured in the fighting. Aragorn had studied it, the dispatches and the letters and was stunned to learn that Sauron was so confident. He was in no hurry to consolidate his power, merely dispatching messages to his field captains to would have to be bred, Uruks made from the earth, positions consolidated and inventoried and plans laid in. For now, he would be 'on tour', taking in the sights of his new holdings and then they would put together the iron fist to end opposition. That final push could wait, Aragorn read and as he did so, a bit of his burden lifted.

He had talked to Faramir, Legolas and Eomer, discussing what to do as they ate their simple dinner. Then the two had left, leaving him alone with Faramir in the simple curtained alcove that was his private chambers.

"This could be a feint," Faramir said, studying his lover for a moment.

"Maybe," Aragorn replied, glancing up to warm eyes. "I think its likely true because who is left to be his opposition? It could be that he's waiting to see if the Valar do anything about this. It could be that he's still overcome by the fact that he has a body and he's gloating about the kingdoms that are his to rule."

Faramir nodded, sighing sadly. "Gondor included."

Aragorn reached out and squeezed Faramir's hand. "Temporary."

Faramir smiled in spite of himself and leaned toward Aragorn, kissing him softly. A strong hand slid up his neck, entwining through soft hair as Aragorn deepened the kiss, savoring Faramir's lips. "Do not despair. I need your courage."

Faramir nodded, kissing him softly. "I need your love," he whispered for the first time and Aragorn stared at him, his eyes dark with emotion.

"You have it, Faramir," he whispered softly, kissing him again and again. "Do not doubt it."

"I won't," Faramir replied, squeezing Aragorn's wrist as he sighed deeply. "No matter what happens, if I should perish, I want you to know that I love you. You are my brother, my king ... my lover ..." He paused and swallowed. "You kept me going after Boromir ..." He stopped and leaned against Aragorn's forehead, sadness pulsing through him and then he sat up, taking Aragorn's hand. He kissed it softly and smiled slightly. "Not much courage, I'm afraid."

"More than enough," Aragorn replied, leaning over and kissing Faramir softly. "There will be another day. There has to be."

Faramir nodded, though he didn't feel it. "I will do what you ask me, my lord," he whispered and watched as Aragorn folded the papers and put them into the bag.

"I have to talk to someone about leaving for Isengard. Wait here for me."

Faramir nodded and watched as Aragorn left, walking as silently as a cat. They were inseparable now, working side-by-side, Steward and King, friends and lovers. Tomorrow, they would go to Isengard and see what was happening in the tower of Saruman. Tonight, they would lie together, holding each other and for a while the cares and burdens of the world would be gone.

***************In the Havens ...

Cirdan stepped from the ship, the steady drizzle falling in the mournful night adding insult upon misery to the multitudes beyond. In a small shelter on the shore, he could see a light burning and so he walked toward it, entering and noting Elrond's presence. The dark-haired Elf looked up, smiling slightly, his weariness like a cloak that he wore on his back.

"Welcome, my friend," he said, nodding.

Cirdan sat and nodded back. "Mae govannan, my friend," he replied, his voice equally tired. "I bring word from Elfhome that your presence is urgently required."

"I cannot go-" Elrond began, halting as Cirdan's hand went up.

"I bring you urgent word of your need to be there. There is a desire to utilize your great facility with words to persuade the Valar to intervene in this atrocity. You are requested to come, to meet with the others and to do the bidding of the king once more."

"King?" Elrond said, confused for a moment as he considered that word.

Cirdan nodded, watching Elrond closely. "Gil-galad needs you once more."

Elrond stared at Cirdan and nodded, rising numbly. "When? Now?"

"I have come to get you."

"Then I must go," Elrond said, his heart pounding wildly. Gathering his cloak, his mind in disarray, Elrond of Imladris followed Cirdan out and in the downpour and the darkness, boarded a white ship, bound for Aman and his long-lost king.

=0=


	2. Chapter 2

=0=

The rain fell steadily, soaking him but he wouldn't go under shelter. He stood at the bow, spray from the waves beyond falling fresh against his face. He was wet and cold but he didn't care, so desperate was he for the miles to fall away. Cirdan was sailing the vessel, peering into the darkness at the lone figure ahead. All the others had jammed the hold, filling every step and crevasse onboard. Crew labored on deck, the only others topside but Elrond and himself.

The night was deeply dark but he knew where to sail, his ship slipping through the rough water on the way to sanctuary in Valinor. But the safety there was temporary for Elrond, for Cirdan knew he would not stay and leave the world behind the way it was now. It had cost him enormously to leave Rivendell, to burn it with his own hand rather than give it to Sauron. Now he was coming home at last, to the homeland of his people and to the king that he loved with all his heart.

That Celebrian was also there along with his three children was something he tried not to think about now. He wasn't looking forward to the moment when that synergy would align in the same room as the King. He, himself would be busier than before, sailing against the wishes of some to Middle-earth. There were so many waiting and his ships were ever busy taking people to safety across the sea.

It was never intended that he be able to sail back, the Valar decreeing that the trip be one way. But they had not hindered him oddly enough, his ships coming and going, making their mercy runs without any trouble. He had wondered at that, why they hadn't stepped in but he didn't question too long their inattention to his work. Ulmo was his lord and he could feel his presence even as he sailed his ships across the stormy seas.

Perhaps they were being given a grace period, a slacking of the rules. Perhaps they were and maybe not. Celeborn might not think so, if he even gave it thought anymore. The big lord's doubt haunted Cirdan. He was losing his religion if you will, of that they were all clear. Celeborn, a traditional and very tough man was falling away somehow from their most deeply held beliefs and customs. That was troubling in the extreme for him. What would be the ultimate cost of their retreat into safety? A loss of faith that peace would not be able to restore?

The wind picked up and he bent to concentrate, compensating for the headwinds that slowed their progress. During the length of their rescue, the seas had been high, almost as if in protest of their return to Middle-earth. Concentrating on his task at hand, he steered their ship forward, heading toward that unknowable spot in the ocean that would be their sanctuary from war.

***************Early morning ...

They had been traveling all night, avoiding trouble and looking for signs of the enemy as they passed ever closer into the lands of the Isen River. There was surprisingly little sign, most of their reports of orc and Uruk activity coming from the eastern side of the mountains from deep patrols and fleeing refugees. Jogging on foot, they hurried southward, moving toward Isengard and the tower of the wizard. Legolas and Eomer had gone east, searching the forests for stragglers. Aragorn was going with Rangers and Faramir to Orthanc to see what could be found there.

Not much activity was happening at the ford and who was there, that had to be determined. They would be searching throughout the tower, rumored to be empty, looking for whatever they could, including the whereabouts of Saruman. The sun was beginning to rise and so they paused, looking into the distance at the still smoldering remains of the fortress grounds.

The Ents had retreated, falling into the forests nearby, leaving behind incredible destruction and disarray. Saruman had been trapped in the fortress, unable to defend it while the army of the huorns had passed by, heading for Helms Deep and the violence there. They had won the battle, erasing a huge contingent of warriors from the Enemy's slate. It was giving them time, the replenishment of these forces. Even though the Battle of Pelennor Fields had been a bloody one for Sauron, he had at last gotten the Ring. He would need time to form a new army, that was in their favor, but in the end without divine intervention, they would all be lost.

Aragorn considered this, as he always considered it, peering over the hill, Faramir ever at his side. They glanced at each other and then rose as one, moving with their people stealthily toward the road that would take them to the gates of Saruman's home.

***************Far away ...

They reached the docks in the early morning, a weak light breaking through the dark and cloudy sky. He walked across the slippery decks, suffused with fatigue and anticipation as his eyes scanned the cliff side and the buildings above the harbor. It was hard to tell that which was actual land and that which was constructed but there was a lone figure standing at the top of the staircase, silhouetted by lights from the buildings behind him.

Elrond paused, his heart in his throat and then continued forward, hurrying toward the steps. He climbed them by twos and threes, reaching the top landing before pausing to stare at the figure who was waiting. He was big, broad shouldered, a dark cloak covering his clothing and his hands were gripping the railing next to him. He reached up and pulled back his hood, revealing his face and his jetblack hair.

Elrond felt emotions wash through him, emotions so vast and complex that he stumbled, unaware that he was even moving until big hands gripped his arms. They stared at each other, two bound by love and honor and then they embraced, holding each other tightly as the rain fell softly.

Cirdan stood below, watching them as the ship unloaded and felt years falling away at the touching sight. It had been centuries upon end that they had been parted but now they were together at the end of times. He turned and looked at the people moving slowly off the ship and he knew in a few days he would have to go back. For now, they would talk, all the friends and comrades together as they assembled their case for the Valar to hear.

***************Isengard ...

They crouched in the bushes, staring at the tower, the gleaming black symbol of their almost annihilation. No one was around, at least there was no sign of activity and so Aragorn rose and boldly walked forward, sword in hand. They watched him, archers with arrows fixed, Faramir's eyes never leaving Aragorn's back. Then he paused, the big man staring up at the windows and turning, signaled the others to come.

Faramir rose, bow in hand and joined Aragorn at the steps of the tower. "What does this mean? That the tower is abandoned?"

"Saruman is on the run," Aragorn replied. "He must be afraid that the Beast will kill him for I am sure that he would know Saruman tried to get the Ring."

"I hope he does," Faramir said bitterly. He looked at the tower, his eyes traveling up its sleek sides, finding nothing to indicate that it was still occupied.

Pools of water stood around them, drowning the caverns below and it was slowly receding as the fires were quenched. The stench was strong, of rotting flesh and drowned foundries, the haze of smoke, punctuated by flumes of hot steam, hanging lazily over the grounds.

They climbed up warily, pausing at the door, listening to the silence that was nearly physical. Aragorn stepped forward and pushed on the door, half open as it was and as it swung backward, he stepped inside, looking around the great anteroom, ready to fight should even the smallest thing move. There was no sound and so they went in, posting a sentry by the door. Walking to the middle of the great room, they looked upward, toward the top of the tower hundreds of feet above them.

Winding all around the inside of the tower, a staircase ascended, showing rooms that hugged the outer walls and landings. Moving swiftly, Aragorn crossed the floor, entering Saruman's study sword in hand. Behind him, silent as a cat, Faramir followed, bow at the ready as he looked around. Aragorn walked to the desk, rifling through books and papers and then systematically checked the room, finding nothing of import.

They exited and then began the long climb, heading toward the top of the tower. As each room was passed, they peered inside, looking for anything that might help them in the long defeat ahead. Nothing seemed promising until they reached a room high up, with a balcony that opened onto the courtyard beyond. There was a single plinth a pedestal upon which an object sat, covered in cloth.

Aragorn paused, hoping against hope that it was what he wished it to be before he stepped forward. Faramir caught his arm, stilling his progress, his eyes anxiously flitting from his lover to the object. Aragorn nodded reassuringly and moved forward, removing the cover from a great glass-like ball. It sat silently, yet there was great energy exuding from it and Aragorn smiled for a moment. Then he covered it again and picked it up, tucking it under his arm. They continued on, finding more dispatch bags that were unopened by Saruman. He had left before they were delivered and Aragorn read them, coaxing letters for Saruman to come to Sauron. They suggested a leisurely consolidation of the world, a time of celebration before the final blows would fall.

Aragorn considered them, the respite they might give and the very real belief that their battles, all of them, had made an impact on Sauron's ability to wage war. He would have to regroup, grow an army and focus his forces. In the meantime they would have just that much more space in which to maneuver.

"Let's go," Aragorn whispered, Faramir nodding and by the time they cleared the tower, the sun was straight up. They melted into the bushes, heading for the mountains, Aragorn's acquisition carefully tucked in a pouch.

***************In a quiet room ...

He sat in his chair, wrapped in a silken robe, a cup of hot tea in his hands. He was chilled, a lingering affect of his human heritage and he was glad for the respite before the heavy emotional sailing began. Gil-galad sat next to him sharing the space, staring at Elrond's profile, memorizing its lines as memories surged. It had been so long, he had almost forgotten what it was like to sit quietly side-by-side with the most interesting and intriguing person he had ever met.

"Are you warm?" he asked, falling into silence as dark eyes filled with passion met his own.

Elrond nodded, not trusting his voice as he put the cup down and sighed deeply. He swallowed hard, gathering his thoughts and then looked at his lover once more. "I have despaired of ever seeing you again."

Gil-galad nodded, his expression filled with love. "I never hoped we would be together," he said. "Things have conspired, my brother. We are on the cusp of a tragedy so vast that it beggars the mind to put words to it."

Elrond nodded, sighing. "I know."

Gil-galad reached out, his hand cupping Elrond's cheek and then he pulled his herald to him, all thought of other things falling away. For centuries, he had waited for this moment and now it was here, all that he had dreamed and hoped. He kissed his lover with a passion he had forgotten, pulling him to his feet and holding him tightly.

Elrond capitulated, any reticence he even thought he had melting under Gil-galad's raging need. Hands fumbled and then slid past his dressing gown, clutching his naked body and roaming at will. He stood pinioned, unable to articulate how much he had dreamed of this moment when the lord of his life claimed him once more. His arms circled his lover, his mouth surrendering to the insistent lips of his king as Gil-galad issued his possessive claims.

'I need you," Gil-galad whispered hoarsely. "Do not deny me, Elrond."

"I can deny you nothing," Elrond whispered.

"Go to the bed and wait for me," he said, gripping the sleeve of the wrap Elrond wore. "Do not cover yourself from my eyes."

Elrond nodded and walked to the bed his gown falling away as he did. He pulled open the covers and climbed in, lying on his back as he watched the King. Gil-galad stood staring at him, his eyes raking Elrond's body and for a moment, a surge of pleasure nearly overpowered him. He licked his lips, dropping the gown in his hand and then tugged at the belt of his tunic.

He pulled it free and tossed it on the floor, his eyes never leaving Elrond for a moment. He pulled his own tunic off, throwing it aside as he felt the heat of Elrond's eyes on his body. He was muscular and taut, his scars and tattoos visible and he knew that the Peredhel was as needy as he. He sat on the chair, pulling off boots and socks and then he stood, tugging at the cords of his trousers.

He did so slowly, drawing out the moment before pushing them down and freeing his body. He stepped out of his clothes and stood before Elrond, the light of the fire and candles shadowing the curves and muscles of his big solid body. His black hair hung over his shoulder and he moved it away from his face with the flick of a hand. He stood, breathing heavily, his hand stroking his cock and as he came toward the bed, Elrond shifted with need.

"It has been so long, Peredhel," he whispered, his eyes narrowing in his growing lust. "I love you, Elrond," he said, moving forward. "Let me show you how much."

Elrond sighed, nodding as the king moved to lie beside him, his hand gripping Elrond's chin. "Show me," he whispered, sighing with pleasureas Gil-galad covered his mouth with his own.

It was a tidal wave of sensation, of pent-up emotion, his need blazing through him as it came back in a rush. Gil-galad moved on top of him, taking his time and his pleasure while giving it back in equal measure. His King was a dominating figure in all aspects and Elrond was the canvas upon which he poured out his private needs. There was nothing for him to do but surrender to his lover, something he never could do for anyone else.

Elrond moved onto his stomach the familiar and deeply longed for sensations at last commencing and when Gil-galad pulled him to his knees, he was ready. Invasion so sweet, pain ever so slight, he absorbed it with relish as his king made his way. He gasped and winced, so long had it been but by the time Gil-galad stilled, Elrond was ready. He nodded, his head resting on his arms and so it began.

He didn't make a sound, so intent was he in absorbing all the sensations he could. Gil-galad took him forcefully and possessively and when he came he cried out, falling onto Elrond's back. They lay together, connected and exhausted, some small part of their emotional need paid for in full. Gil-galad covered his lover, nuzzling his neck, his sense of anxiety partially assuaged. He should have moved off but he didn't, so warm and comforting was the contact and so they lay together for a long while in silence.

At last, he moved, rolling off to one side, sighing as he lay rubbing his chest with his hands. Elrond didn't move unwilling to end the relaxation that had overtaken him. Gil-galad sighed and looked at Elrond, memories of other evenings filling his mind. "You are as beautiful as ever."

Elrond smiled, opening his eyes, moving slightly to lay on his side. "You have not lost your touch."

Gil-galad chuckled, turning on his side to face his partner, pulling him closer until their bodies aligned. He draped a muscular leg over Elrond, holding him in place as he leaned in and began to suckle on the pale throat of his lover. Elrond sighed, closing his eyes in pleasure.

"You called for me. How long have you been here?"

"Too long alone," Gil-galad replied, brushing Elrond's dark hair out of the path of his lips. "For eons, I think."

"Things have happened, they have changed," Elrond began before a firm kiss cut off his remarks.

"I know about Celebrian," Gil-galad replied. "I met her when she first came here. I visited her out of respect for her family and found out about the two of you."

Elrond looked at him, his eyes haunted as he searched his lover's face for any sign of reproach.

"You married her and had children," Gil-galad replied, kissing Elrond over and over again. "I have met your sons. They hate me fiercely, something I expected from the first."

"I-" Elrond began before he was cut off with a kiss. Then a smile as warm as the sun formed on the lips of his king. "Do not even speak of it," Gil-galad replied. "I would too, in their place. They are loyal to you and their mother."

"But you are a part of who I am," Elrond protested. "I loved you before Celebrian."

"You love her?" Gil-galad asked, the ghost of a smile on his swallowed and sighed.

"In my own way, over time ... after a fashion." He shifted and pressed Gil-galad to his back, covering him and settling his own body over the king. He gazed down at the handsome face of his lover, a face that had haunted his dreams forever. "I love many things, Melme. I loved my home, Middle-earth, books, beauty ... but they do not come into the same realm of thinking as you."

"Celebrian was your wife. You had children ... you were intimate. It was more, at the time I recall, than I thought you capable of achieving. You were most certainly *my* lover in all the ways *that* encompassed."

Elrond smiled, shaking his head. "You always were for exclusivity."

"Of course. You *are* property of the King. Or have you forgotten that?" Gil-galad proffered, half earnestly, half facetiously.

Elrond paused, his expression gentling. "I have forgotten nothing about you, my lord. I have every memory of every moment stored against the grief of your loss."

Gil-galad reached up and gripped Elrond's neck, pulling him in for a searing kiss. He moved and they rolled over, Elrond pinned beneath his body as he gripped Elrond's wrists in his powerful hands. "Do not speak of things past, Melme, of moments we cannot change. I have loved only you for the entirety of my life. What comes next, we cannot determine but I will put it aside until better days come. I only ask of you one thing."

"Whatever you will, my lord," Elrond whispered, sighing against the lips that were so close to his own.

Come to my bed," Gil-galad requested, kissing Elrond softly. "Come to my bed, be with me when you can. That is all that I ask for now."

Elrond sighed, his mind a whirl of emotions but he nodded, swallowing hard. "I will."

Gil-galad smiled, his relief immense and then he gave himself to his lover, his complete attention. The fire crackled nearby, its weak light barely illuminating the corners of the room. On the bed, consummating a lifetime of friendship and shared experience, Elrond and Gil-galad sealed their devotion.


	3. Chapter 3

***************In the mountains ...

They found the going swift, following trails that only they knew and by the time they made their first camp they were deeply in the woods. Small fires heated food and then illuminated quiet conversation as they settled in for the night. Faramir sat beside Aragorn, talking in a low voice as his lover considered the prize they had captured. It was in a bag next to their bedrolls, waiting for scrutiny and Faramir could feel its malevolence from where he sat."

"I am uneasy with that thing," Faramir said, nodding to the bag.

Aragorn nodded as well. "It is mine," he said, leaning against Faramir's shoulder. "It is mine by rights and no one else may use it."

"A seeing stone, Aragorn," Faramir said, his voice strained. "What if he can see you too?"

"That would assume he has a stone with him. I am wagering that he will no longer be using his, considering it of no real use now that the world has fallen. I can assume from the arrogance of his letters that his guard is down and he is unhurried. That means that I can look and he will not know, since I wager that his palantir is at Barad-dur."

Faramir sighed and nodded, gazing at Aragorn with worried eyes. Aragorn smiled and leaned forward, kissing his lover on the mouth. Faramir kissed him back, the warmth soothing and watched as Aragorn rose and walked to the bag. He picked it up and stepped into the shadows, going to wrestle the demons of the world beyond their camp.

Faramir bit his lip, shoving the shadows back and concentrated on the flames of the small fire before him. For three hours he would wait, his anxiety ever rising before Aragorn would step back into the clearing. He would put the bag down, moving to lay out his blankets and patting the ground for Faramir, wait until he lay down. Spooning behind him, his arms wrapped around him, he would hold Faramir all night, sleep a longed for wish that would not be fulfilled.

=0=

He stood in the library, dressed in borrowed clothing, pacing back and forth nervously. Gil-galad had left reluctantly, leaving with the promise of a shared meal later in the day. He had gathered his wits and made himself presentable sending word to his family that he was nearby. He bit his lip, pausing at the sound of a soft knock on the door and turned, exhaling a deeply held breath."Come in."

The door opened and a woman stepped in, his daughter, Arwen. Smiling, with tears in her eyes, she ran to him and flung herself into his arms. He held her, his beloved daughter and watched as his sons joined him and then lastly, his wife. Celebrian stood half into the room, her eyes watching him with deep emotion.

Elladan turned and held out his hand, taking his mother's and tugged her gently into the room. Celebrian entered, her face pale and a hopeful smile on her lips. Arwen glanced from her mother, to her father and back again, her eyes hopeful as well. Celebrian hesitated, then walked to Elrond and into a waiting embrace.

Elladan let out a deeply held breath, his brother's hand squeezing his own. "Do you wish us to leave you to talk?" he asked, glancing at Arwen and Elrohir.

"No," Elrond said, shaking his head. "You do not have to, Elladan."

"We will, though," Arwen said, taking her brothers' hands. She walked to the door and they departed through it, closing it softly behind them. Elrond watched them go, desperately thankful for their presence here in safety and then he looked at Celebrian, at her lovely face and tear-filled eyes.

"You look wonderful," he said, smiling slightly. "I was worried that you would not be able to find peace."

"I am well, Elrond," she replied, smiling, turning and walking to a chair nearby. She looked at him and he joined her, sitting beside her, waiting as she composed herself. "I never apologized to you."

"For what?" he asked, taken by surprise by her remark.

"For leaving you alone," she said, her gaze fixed on the fireplace.

"You have nothing to apologize for. You were ill. Nothing could be done about what had happened to you, not by my hand and not in Rivendell," Elrond began before she raised her hand stilling him.

She looked at him, her eyes filled with sadness. "Perhaps that is true but it does not excuse leaving you and the children. My place was by your side and I left you. I am sorry for that, Elrond."

Elrond sat back, his expression gentle. "I do not begrudge you going, Celebrian. You were so hurt I could hardly bear your sorrow. I knew it was not a decision you made lightly. We have gotten by."

"The world is at an end," she said, reaching for his hand. She took it, touching the Ring that was still on his finger. "You wear it yet?"

"I do here and only here," Elrond said, sighing sadly. Her hand was small and pale, as soft as satin and he squeezed it gently. "I do it for courage and the memory of my obligation.""To the people of the world ... you have never lacked for courage," Celebrian posed. She watched his face, knowing there were other loyalties, ones she had encountered from the day of her return.

"For many reasons, Celebrian," Elrond finally replied with a sigh. He looked at her. "You look as lovely as ever I remember."

"You look tired, Elrond. Tired and strained. The burden of your responsibilities plays on your face." She reached out and touched him, her hand cool against his skin. "You are a good and true soul. I love you still."

He felt pangs of regret and compromise fall through him as she leaned forward, pressing her lips against his. He kissed her back, feeling little but confusion as she moved closer, sliding her arms around his waist.

"I have dreamed of this moment, when we could be together again," she said softly, sliding her hand into the folds of his tunic. "I know you will go as soon as you can but for a moment, let it only be you and me together."

A memory came to him, a tentative Celeborn, talking to him the day they were wed. He had come to him, pausing awkwardly, gathering his courage and then he broached the subject that lay between them so clearly.

"I know that you loved another," he began, pausing as an expression of pain passed over Elrond's face. "I know this, Elrond, but I know what a good man you are. My daughter is safe in your hands. This joining of our houses, it seems cold and calculating but I believe that you will love her given time."

Elrond stared at him, his face burning as they broached painful and private subjects. "Your daughter will be my wife and I, her husband. I will do all that I can to make her happy."

Celeborn nodded, sighed deeply. "Yes, this I know. I can think of no one else that I would give her to that would make me feel the confidence I have. I also know that your first and foremost love was the King and for me to not tell you that would be to deny the truth. I hope and pray that your life with Celebrian will bring you happiness, children and hope. I hope and pray that you will love her enough to put aside what cannot be retrieved from the ashes."

Elrond nodded, his heart in despair and when he took Celebrian to wife, it was with sorrow and pain. They had gone to his chamber and he had claimed his husband's rights, but the passion that his King could get with a mere look would never be shared between them.

He grew to love her as a friend and companion, as a confidant and ally and the mother of his children. He gave her such respect, affection and attention that it became clear to him early on that she believed he truly loved her. He did in some way, but not as a husband should love a wife. He could not love her as a woman should be loved, for some part of him could not embrace her totally, not as a diligent lover should. For reasons he would not articulate, her great beauty was an abstraction to him in the way that art or a book could be. He loved her for her goodness, her kindness and her laughter, her beauty and her insight but nothing more.

She sat next to him, her lips nuzzling his neck as she sought from him that which he could only give in measured helpings. He sighed and pulled her close, stroking her hair as she whispered to him her need and her loneliness.

"You have been gone so long," Elrond said, his voice gentle. "I am overcome by your presence, Celebrian."

She sat up and smiled as tears came to her eyes and nodded. "As am I," she said. "Come to me tonight when all the talk is over. I need you, husband. I *need* you."

He nodded and she kissed him, her fingers threading through his thick black hair, pulling him into her embrace. He kissed her tenderly, guilt suffusing him and when she rose, she was smiling. He rose as well and she took his hand, bringing it to her lips. "Come to dine with me," she said.

He nodded and she took his arm, the two walking to the door and out into the hallway where three others stood. Arwen smiled, glancing at her brothers and taking their arms, they walked to the stairs. They would descend together, eating their meal as a family and then Elrond would leave to meetings watched him go, glancing at her mother. Celebrian stared at him with a loving expression and it warmed her heart to see her so happy. She felt happiness even as she felt foreboding, for she had seen the King that morning standing at the dock. He went every day, watching the ships come and go, giving his strength and dignity to every refugee who disembarked. She knew her father had loved him in some past age and she wondered as she watched him if they still shared that passion.

She turned to her plate, smiling at her mother who was engaged in jokes with her sons. She would talk to her grandmother later, she thought, as she sat and enjoyed her mother's happiness once more.

***************In a cavern in the Misty Mountains ...

He lay on the bunk, a blanket giving him warmth and watched as water dripped off a colorful rock. Nearby, fussing with a errant leather strap, Sam sat ever watchful. He sighed and Sam's eyes came up, looking at Frodo with his usual intensity. "Are you all right, Mr. Frodo?"

"I'm ... I need to sit up," Frodo said, struggling to jumped up and helped him sit, sitting himself on the bunk as well.

"How do you feel? Are you hungry or thirsty?"

"I'm ... I think I could use some water," Frodo said, closing his eyes wearily, holding his bandaged hand against his chest. "Where are we?"he asked, watching as Sam went to a barrel and dipped a dipper into it.

He returned and Frodo drained the cup, sighing with weariness as he did.

"We're in a cavern," Sam said. "Do you remember anything?"

"No, not much. What has happened?" Frodo asked, as in his head a kaleidoscope of images lay scattered like shattered glass.

"We came upon Gimli," Sam said. "He was in the Emyn Muil and we came upon him. He was with others, men of Gondor and Rohan, I think. They brought us here, to a Dwarf sanctuary that only other Dwarves know about. We're in the Misty Mountains."

"What about the Ring?" Frodo asked, fixing a sickly gaze on Sam.

Sam's expression fell. "You don't remember, do you."

Frodo shook his head. "No. Tell me."

"That *Gollum*! He came up the mountainside with us and when we got to the top, you couldn't throw it in. He pounced on you and bit off your finger."

Frodo started and looked at his bandaged hand, tears coming to his eyes. Sam took it gently and laid it in Frodo's lap, moving closer and pulling him down. Frodo stretched out, his head in Sam's lap and he felt the hot tears falling down his cheeks. Sam stroked Frodo's hair, tears in his own eyes.

"Gollum took the Ring and we have been on the run ever since, headin' back to the Shire by shank's mare. If I ever get my hands on that little devil, I'll cut his throat, I will.

"***************Far away ...

He had been dumped in the tunnel of the lair of the monster and he had groped along the wall, his sightless eyes no help. He could smell her and sense her, an unfathomable rage suffusing the shadows as he stumbled along, seeking a way out.

When she came upon him, draggling along in her rage, she didn't consider that he had been her acolyte. She bit him and bound him, moving into the shadows with him, fastening him to the ceiling of her larder along with the others. Orcs and Uruks, themselves victims of her wrath, watched as he struggled in his web of doom. They were her meat, her dinner for the duration as she nursed her terrible wounds against the day of her vengeance.

It would come, she reasoned around the horror of her wounds. If she survived, she would take out the one who had harmed her. She had never been defeated and she had never been afraid, this daughter of Ungoliant. Even Melkor had feared her mother, the two falling apart in the beginning of the world and she carried her mother's contempt for everyone and everything. Sauron didn't frighten her and neither did the Nazgul, none of them matching her sheer malevolence and hate.

She sat in the gloom, her wounds tearing at her and watched as her dinner shivered and squirmed. He wasn't much to look at but he was better than nothing and she resolved to eat Gollum last of all. Moving once more, she grasped an orc, his cries of terror and rage disappearing with her into the darkness.

***************In the woods above the Old Forest Road ...

They knelt together, their heads nearly touching as they watched the enemy move stealthily along. They were heading for the gap that led through the mountains, pulling heavy carts toward Rivendell. They were the advance team heading for Imladris to prepare a shelter for Sauron when he deigned to go there.

"They are going to defile Lord Elrond's house," Legolas said, his voice filled with hatred.

"No they won't," Eomer said, squeezing Legolas' shoulder. "Let them get into the mountains and then we shall teach them the error of their ways."

Legolas nodded, glancing at Eomer, images of Rohan filling his mind. They rose and melted back into the trees, disappearing from even a happenchance discovery by the enemy.

Wains were moving northward, heading for Mirkwood, advance teams determined to prepare their lord's accommodation. He was lounging in Lothlorien, taking in the grandeur of his actions against the Elves and the fall of their wood. They labored onward, heading ever upward until they came to the narrowest defile on the road. They were halfway through it before the first arrow landed, piercing the throat of an orc commander.

There were shouts and screams, bitter, terrible moments of fighting and cursing but in the end it was a forgone conclusion and Legolas stood among the dead, his face filled with grim satisfaction. Eomer knelt beside the commander, rifling his bag as around him the rest were looting and burning. Things were confiscated, others were heaped up and soon a blazing fire signaled the traveler's doom.

"We better press on," Eomer said, watching as Legolas stared at the fire. His face was cold, like carved ice and Eomer felt concern as they stood together. "Legolas."

Blue eyes turned, meeting his and for a moment, they were hate-filled and bitter. Then Legolas sighed, nodding as he turned, looking down the trail to the plains beyond. His father's house lay that way, hidden in the forest, the home that had been his for the length of his life. It was burned now, destroyed and forsaken but for the Beast who would be there soon quashed his hatred and moved with Eomer, melting into the forest on trails unmarked. Soon there would only be ashes and bones, nothing but refuse. It suited him fine as he marched along grimly, searching for more orcs to kill. There could never be too many, he considered. Behind him, his eyes filled with concern, Eomer of Rohan followed in silence.

***************Later that night ...

They camped in the shelter of an overhang, their fires unseen by anyone. Legolas stood on the edge of the shelf that they camped upon, staring into the darkness beyond them. Eomer sat by a small fire, listening to quiet conversation as he stared at Legolas. The Elf was becoming introverted and it worried him, so he rose and walked over, stopping beside his silent partner and sighed deeply, his own weariness suffusing him.

"It is very dark tonight. Even the moon has forsaken us."Legolas nodded. "The gods have forsaken us."

"You can go," Eomer said, considering Legolas' anger. "It only means taking a boat from these shores."

"I cannot do that," Legolas replied, glancing at Eomer with dark intense eyes. "How could I leave?"

Eomer shrugged slightly. "There might be those who wonder why you stay." He shifted, staring directly at his partner. "You are here for vengeance. This I can understand. Those of us with responsibility for kingdoms and their people do not drop that easily."

"No," Legolas agreed, sighing slightly. "How can we go from here, this place that has been our home since the Awakening?"

"Your kind have always been called home," Eomer replied. "You have another home to which those such as I are forbidden. It must give you comfort knowing that this does not have to be your fate."

"It gives me nothing," Legolas said, moving to sit on a fallen log. Eomer sat beside him waiting patiently, hoping the taciturn figure would talk and become less burdened. Blue eyes looked at him as a handsome face appraised him. "You have no hope, do you."

Eomer shook his head. "No, I do not. That burned with Meduseld when the world fell."

"I have none either," Legolas replied, turning his gaze upon the darkness once more. "I know my father's kingdom lies in the grasp of the monster and all that I love will be defiled. I pray to Elbereth that my family got out and took our people with them but I am not sure she hears me. I fear that my faith along with my hope is a faded thing."

"I am sorry," Eomer replied, sighing deeply. "What is there left after the death of hope?"

"Vengeance," Legolas said quietly. He looked at Eomer. "Your uncle and your sister, your cousin and your country ... you cannot have hope for them?"

Eomer swallowed, looking away. "I try not to think on it. That part is over. There is only what we have now."

"And what is that?" Legolas asked, his eyes never met Legolas' gaze, all the misery of his life welling up in his eyes. Rising, he gripped Legolas' arm and moving swiftly, stepped into the shadows, the Elf in tow.

=0=

"You look well."He nodded and extended his hand, shaking Thranduil's once more as behind him, sitting silently in a chair, the dark eyes of Oropher looked on.

"And you, Thranduil," Elrond replied, glancing around the room at the assembled Elves, nodding to each. Celeborn was there having greeted him earlier and so was Cirdan, Galadriel and Thranduil's seneschal, Ellan of Mirkwood. Galdor of another time, of the city of Gondolin shook hands with warmth, a smile on his lips. Erestor and Glorfindel nodded, smiling as did Haldir of Lorien and lastly, Turgon the Wise. He rose to greet Elrond, holding out his hand and Elrond gripped it in shocked surprise.

"My Lord," he managed, his eyes filled with emotion as he greeted his great grandfather for the very first time. "I am ... speechless."

Turgon smiled and shook his head. "As at last I am as well. It is good to greet you finally, my dear one."

Elrond nodded numbly, his surprise overpowering. Turgon smiled, moving aside as Elrond walked to a chair to sit. They all settled, taking wine served by a young girl and for a moment it was silent in the room.

Then Cirdan cleared his throat, glancing at Gil-galad, who was sitting by the fire, silently watching. "I did not tell you, Lord Elrond, that your kinsman was going to be here. I am sorry for that in a way but pleased in another. Lord Turgon is of the same mind as we are, the first to agree openly among those who have lived here since the fall of our people in the first ages of the world."

"I was cajoled, my Lord Gil-galad, and silkily persuaded but my inclination is to support your ideas for the relief of Middle-earth," Turgon said, his gaze falling upon his grandson once more. "It is an old story but as raw in its lessons as the day we stepped from these shores to pursue our obsessions to the doom of us all. Those of you, innocents born without stain, have paid for our folly in too much blood and suffering. I will tell you myself, I am no friend of Feanor or his family." For a moment, he sat silent, emotion and rage surfacing even now and then he sighed, shifting in his seat. "I have not forgotten anything and I do not deny my part but I also have a responsibility to assuage the fires that rage across the lands of the hapless people left behind. Such is all our duty." He looked at Elrond, a faint smile forming. "As you have done your entire life, my noble grandson."

Elrond nodded, uncertain how to articulate the terrible emotions that played through him. "My lord ..." he said, pausing to swallow hard. "I cannot turn away from what is happening. There are many there who have my love and respect and I cannot abandon them to this fate."

"Then it is our obligation and challenge to do something to even the odds. As it is, I can imagine that time is running out and that many are being harmed even as we sit here," Turgon replied. "I have discussed the idea of appealing to the King of Aman, asking him to make an intervention in this matter. After all, we are talking about a renegade Maia, this creature of doom, and we are not equipped to defeat him now that his power is consolidated by the use of the Ring."

"It is so, my Lord," Elrond replied, Celeborn nodding and rising. He began to pace, as was his wont when greatly aggravated and Galadriel watched him with worried eyes."Our families have been sundered, not all of our people making for the safety of this shore as yet or perhaps ever. Then there are some of us whose kin are of a different nature," Galadriel began, glancing at Elrond.

Elrond nodded. "My brother's kin, Aragorn of Gondor, is the last of the line of Isildur and he is alone in Middle-earth, leading the resistance. I have much word of his deeds, of the slowing of the unrepentant tide that will inexorably overtake them in the end without help.""Elros' descendents," Turgon replied, nodding. "I never had the pleasure of knowing your brother. That joy will have to wait until the end of the World and of Time itself. For now, I have a familial obligation as well as a moral one to see to it that the distant grandson of my great-great grandson is assisted in his duty to the people he rules, even in the disarray that exists now."

"Then you agree, my Lord," Celeborn said, pausing and turning to the assembled group. "We have to step forward and avenge our losses."

Turgon smiled slightly, shrugging gently. "I suppose that it could be said so but I am one for whom loss is as natural as breathing, my friend. Vengeance is a bitter path to trod."

"Not for me," Celeborn hissed, his face filled with rage. "My country is in ashes and I feel the presence of the Demon King in the lands that are *mine*. Lothlorien, I burnt with mine *own* hand. Elrond did same in the Valley of the Bruinen. Our beloved homes, sanctuaries and refuges for the people of the world ... they are gone forever. Someone needs to pay in kind," he said, turning and pacing once more. "All the light of the world is gone. All the joy and the hope. We owe the suffering multitudes the opportunity to be free once more and I cannot live here in peace if nothing is done. I will take a sword and leave these shores, for I would rather die there defying the Beast than live here blind to suffering."

Glorfindel sighed, glancing at Ellan. "Your argument sways me, my Lord. I came back from mine own time in reflection in Mando's Halls to serve the House of Elrond. I could have stayed here, living in comfort and bliss but I could not even as my Lord was in danger in the world. Can we sit here and not act? I would think not, not if we aspire to call ourselves moral beings."

Celeborn nodded and turned to the window, looking out at the sea. Beyond the window the dark waves chopped and bounded in steel gray restlessness against the sandy shores. It was raining here, Celeborn thought, watching as the sky wept tears against the windowpane. Somewhere in the world, real tears where being shed by people suffering and dying in sighed and closed his eyes in misery.

***************Later that night ...

He sat by the window, sharing a plate of fruit and cheese as they talked together. Gil-galad smiled, listening as Elrond told a tale of Celeborn and his grandsons when they were still small children."You love your children."

"They are the jewels of my existence," Elrond said, sighing softly. "I am gifted with sons and a daughter of great goodness."

"Your wife ..." Gil-galad ventured. "She wishes you in her bed this night?"

Elrond sighed and nodded, tension suffusing his entire persona. "She is happy to see me again. I do not know what to feel myself."

"Do you love me?" Gil-galad asked, hating himself for doing so.

Dark eyes met his and an expression of almost painful desire formed on Elrond's face. "Do you have to ask me something so obvious? I am so filled with love for you I cannot bear the weight of it."

Gil-galad nodded, sipping his wine. "That was not a fair question to ask."

"Nothing is fair anymore," Elrond whispered. "Nothing in the world is fair."

"You despair. I find that difficult to ascribe to you, my brother" Gil-galad replied.

"You did not see the aftermath of your passing," Elrond said, looking away. "You do not know the meaning of despair. It surpasses all other emotions that have visited themselves upon me but for love for you. That is the greatest desire and token that I bear and I give it to you without reservation."

Gil-galad put down his glass and took Elrond's hand, squeezing it. "You must go to her. I will not detain you."

"You have my heart, as ever you did," Elrond said, looking at him glumly.

"I know," Gil-galad whispered, pulling Elrond to him. He kissed him with passion, with possession. He mastered his lover and then sat back, looking at him with darkling eyes. "You must go and I will see you when you rise in the morning."

Elrond nodded, pausing for a moment and then rose and walked toward the door. He hesitated and then turned, gazing at Gil-galad before returning to him and kneeling, placing his head in his lover's lap, his arms slipping around Gil-galad's waist. He closed his eyes, the sensations of misery and desire warring in his heart as he felt the soft touch of Gil-galad's fingers stroking his hair. He leaned up and Gil-galad kissed him, crushing his mouth with his own lips. Elrond groaned, pressing back. Then it was over and he rose, turning and hurrying away, the door closing behind him.

Gil-galad stared at the door, sighing sadly, his glass still in his hand. He drained it and refilled it, settling back more comfortably, images of Elrond in his mind as he whiled away the night until the dawn.

***************In a chamber elsewhere ...

She lay on the bed, her silk gown barely adequate to cover her lovely pale beauty. Silver hair, like unto her father's, lay like a spray of flowers over her pillow. She had bathed and dressed, lightly perfuming as she waited for her husband to return.

He was as the earth, solid and unchanging but solemn in a way she had never seen before. Guilt clung to her, guilt and sadness that her frailty had driven her from his side. He had stood on the dock, their children gathered around him, his face grieving even as he offered support to those who could not and would not go with her.

He was here now and she would be for him what she knew he needed, a support, friend and comrade. She would also be a lover, assuaging centuries without companionship of the kind that only she could give to him. The door opened and she saw him come in, moving to the bathing room to do his nightly listened to the familiar sounds, the rush of water and the silence once more as he paused before coming out to join her for bed. He moved from the shadows to the light of the candles, clothed in his dressing gown and nothing more. His hair was long and black, thick and straight, and she longed to touch it once more.

He stood over her, staring at her as if memorizing something faintly forgotten, something that he had to prompt himself to remember. She looked at him, at the faint hesitation of his manner and made a vow to help him past his reticence. She offered her hand and he took it, squeezing it as he shed his robe. Entering the covers, lying beside her, she turned and looked down into his handsome face.

Care was there, care and something else but she wasn't sure and so she leaned down to kiss him. It was soft and tentative, sweet and loving and she deepened it as he touched her hair. She smiled at him, at his shy and withdrawn demeanor and vowed to love him like once they did.

"Do not be shy, my beautiful husband," she whispered as she moved to cover him with her body.

It was soft and smooth, her skin like cool silk and he felt her weight as if it were a feather. Her hair was beautiful, her most lovely feature and he threaded his fingers through it in pleasure, charmed as ever by its lustrous silk. He sighed, unmoved by her efforts and so he began to apply himself before it became too obvious.

He loved her as he had before, gently and kindly but without any of the fiery passion that animated him with his King. For that, he gave to Gil-galad and to no one else and by the time they lay together, he had done his duty. For duty it felt even more so than before, like sleeping with a acquaintance for whom you were only fond. The love that she needed, he no longer felt, if even he felt it in the years before.

She wanted him, he knew, even as the king did. The world beyond was in despair. He was torn in too many directions, with too many demands and too many obligations. The shock of his great-grandfather's appearance had nearly undone him, casting before him other possibilities. He lay inbed, his wife entwined around him, his King nearby, his presence keenly felt. And even as he considered the twists and turns of the present, he felt a deep need to see someone else, someone who had haunted his dreams for the whole of his life.

Somewhere, someplace, his parents resided and they were the ones who he most wanted to see. Earendil and Elwing, the parents who had left him, never to return in the course of his life. They never saw Elros again, nor their grandchildren, nor him of course. He could hardly bear being here in this place filled with ghosts and he hoped as he lay miserably alone that he could see his father and mother again.

This was heaven, the place of peace and refuge, he considered. Yet, he felt none of the things always promised to him in lore. There was no peace here, no hope, no happiness as long as the world lay in darkness beyond the sea. There could be only sadness and the loneliness of abandonment if he did nothing .

This was something he had some knowledge about and so he made up his mind. He would be ceaseless in his efforts to find a solution to this problem and perhaps in the effort to do so he would find his parents as well. He wanted to see them, to touch them and talk to them, to find out why they never came back, all the child questions that he had held inside. Then he would tell them of his brother, of his beloved Elros and all that they accomplished in the long and strenuous autumn of the world's closed his eyes and entered into reverie, the image of his brother coming to comfort him once more.

***************Nearby ...

Glorfindel stood in the doorway, staring out into the night, drawn by something ill-defined. The sea was becoming even more unsettled and so he walked into the darkness, sensing a call. Something urged him forward, something enormous and ancient. Someone was calling to him and down the stairs he walked. His eyes fixed on the buoy that bobbed off shore, a faintly moving figure that warned ships of the shoals.

He paused on the sand, the fresh air bracing as overhead the sky was as black as pitch. Then he felt it, the rising of enormous energy and before him, the swells raised to the sky. He wasn't afraid, the sensation of peace and awe overcoming reservation and as he watched, a dark figure formed. Taller than a man, ever rising higher, he watched as the figure became cohesive and and overwhelming, he knew in a moment who it was. Kneeling, he stared up into the fierce eyes of Ulmo. Water dripped from his armor, green as the ocean and his trident was enormous, his giant fist clutching it tightly. He didn't move his lips but Glorfindel could hear him as he imparted his message from his mind to the Elf. Then he resided, falling back into the ocean and the sea became calmer as he faded away.

Glorfindel sat a moment and then rose, turning and hurrying up the steps to the King's chambers. He knocked gently and entered as bidden, pausing to pour himself a drink.

"You look like you have seen a ghost, Glorfindel," Gil-galad said, smiling from his chair, where he sat lounging, glass in hand.

"I have, my Lord," he said, swallowing his drink before pouring another and taking a chair. "I heard a siren call and I answered it, meeting the great Lord of the Oceans out on the shore."

"Ulmo?" Gil-galad asked, arching an eyebrow. "What did he impart, unless it is private?"

"It is not," Glorfindel said, sipping his drink. "He said to me, 'take heart' and then he faded away."

"Take heart," Gil-galad repeated, mulling over the cryptic message before rising and walking to the wine bottle. He took it and walked to his chair, pausing to refill Glorfindel's glass before filling his own and sitting, the bottle on his lap. "I will take it as a good sign."

"I think I will too," Glorfindel said, raising his glass in salute. "To hope."

Gil-galad saluted back, images of Elrond's face coming to his mind. "To hope," he whispered as he drained his glass.

***************In a cavern in the Misty Mountains ...

Frodo was sleeping, Sam watching over him, Gimli talking to friends as he made plans to leave. Aragorn was alive, so they were told and operating near to their sanctuary in hit-and-run missions. He would be going tomorrow taking his Gondorian and Rohirrim companions and Sam made a vow that the two of them would leave with them also.

The fire flickered nearby as Sam sat watching, Frodo sleeping fitfully as he dreamed of the Ring.

**************In the shadows near their camp ...

Eomer pressed against him, the full length of the Elf flat against the trunk of a great tree. He savored the soft flesh of Legolas' neck. He had been dragged into the darkness away from prying eyes and into the angry and needy arms of his partner. They had grappled with each other until Eomer had the upper hand, his size and strength overpowering the will of the Elf.

Legolas let Eomer manhandle him, giving in to the pulsating force of nature that held him firmly as Eomer ground against his body, seeking relief from his own burning rage. Eomer was gasping, rubbing harder and faster, nearly incoherent with desire and the need for release. Legolas could barely stand, his legs spread and his mind in flames as Eomer made him dance to his own tune.

When Legolas came, it was with a groan that Eomer swallowed, the two sliding to the ground and falling back in a tangle. He wanted to cry, the tears in his eyes brimming, but Legolas willed them back as he gripped Eomer. The horseman was silent, his arms around Legolas and as they lay on the ground for a moment they were alone. The grief and rage that drove them both receded in the haze of their orgasmic release. In a short time, too short, they would be back to themselves and the horrors of their life would once more slam home.

The stars peeped through the clouds as tiny breaks came and went in the gathering breeze. Far above them, a lone star shone brightest as it continued its journey across the dome of the night.

***************On the trail ...

They lay together, Aragorn spooned behind his lover, his fingers threaded through Faramir's as he slept. The palantir lay near to him, safely in a bag and he knew that the Beast had slackened his guard. He felt the arrogance, the sheer overweening pride of the Demon as he enjoyed his slow progress abroad. Sauron had left his palantir in Barad-dur. He had no idea that Aragorn could see him, the palantir so small a flicker on the cosmic scale upon which he roamed as to be overlooked and as he lay on the ground, Aragorn considered what he would do next.

Weariness was his companion and so he settled closer to Faramir, nestling his cheek against his lover's shoulder. Soft blond hair touched his lips and he sighed, wishing they were alone some place peaceful, just the two of them. They never would be, he considered. They would never have that luxury because the fate of the world was strictly in his hands. He held Faramir close, the only gentleness in his life now and willed himself to sleep before the dawn's first would almost succeed.

=0=

On the trail ...

Gimli led the way, moving along the forest cliff side with skill. Behind him, wending their way silently were men of Gondor and Rohan, of the Dale and the southlands and following as best they could, Sam and Frodo of the Shire. They passed signs of travelers, footprints on the trail and cast off items scattered here and there. They moved onward, heading for a pass that would take them into defended territory and hopefully to Aragorn.

Frodo moved much swifter now, his hand healing slowly and his weariness assuaged somewhat. He needed a more skilled healer than he had seen thus far, that much was clear to Sam. Aragorn would be able to help him, his skills a natural part of his noble heritage and when he did, Sam would feel better.

Sam brought up the rear, his eyes focused on Frodo, the little hobbit moving as best he could with the men. Gimli was their guide and they would find their way to sanctuary eventually, the tentative respite from the dangers of the east.

The sky was steel-gray overhead, a sign of the times he considered, the fallout of losing to the Beast of Mordor. The sun seldom reached them here on the surface of the world and the darkness of the forest was menacing. The cool breeze felt good, he would have to say and as Sam hurried along, he prayed the hope he felt in tiny measure would last the day.

***************In a cave in the mountains ...

They arrived finally, reaching the sanctuary of the cavern that had become their home. Aragorn and Faramir moved to the center of the vast defile, listening as scouts dispensed their bounty of information. Rohan was under the complete sway of the Beast and from there it was decided that Sauron would launch his armies. They were being formed, grown up from scratch and gathered together but it would take time to be a force beyond the harrying menace that they were now.

The river was their line of demarcation and sorties came steadily, repulsed by archers and roving bands of hunters. They had taken a night strategy, slipping in and slipping out, leaving in their wake piles of silently slaughtered enemy. The fear that they were building was ever growing and it showed in the reluctance of orcs to press forward. They feared the nightriders, killers with no mercy and for now it was their edge against the slowly growing tide.

Aragorn nodded and turned, walking to the curtained off alcove that was his home. Faramir followed, pausing in the doorway, watching as Aragorn set the bag with the palantir down gently against the wall of the cavern.

"That thing is frightening. The Evil One can see you when you use it."

"He cannot, or he chooses not to," Aragorn replied, sitting wearily on the bunk that sufficed as his bed. "I do not think he has taken his own with him. He does not perceive that anyone is watching, so clear is he reveling in his own victory."

Faramir nodded, moving inside, the curtain falling behind him, shutting out the activity beyond. He stood for a moment, staring at Aragorn who sat wearily rubbing his face with his hands. "You are weary. Let me get something for you to eat."

"Dine with me," Aragorn replied, looking at him with his dark eyes. He reached out and took Faramir's hand, squeezing it gently. "You are dear to me," he said quietly, kissing Faramir's hand. "Thank you."

Faramir knelt, a soft smile forming on his lips. "And you to me, my Lord," he said, leaning in and kissing Aragorn softly.

Strong fingers threaded through his hair as Aragorn held him, savoring his mouth. It was a kiss of possession and Faramir returned it, the two falling away from the world and its cares. Another hand joined the first, Faramir held fast in their grip as the King of the free peoples of the failing world took his pleasure. He leaned forward, their chests touching and Aragorn moved his leg, bracing it around his lover to hold him in place.

Faramir sighed, slipping his arms around Aragorn as they took a brief moment for themselves. Intimacy was difficult here and so they took care to ensure their privacy. He longed for his bed in the House of the King, in the White City of Gondor. He longed to be there, lying in passion with the love of his life, the Lord and Heir of the kingdom of Gondor.

But it never would be. This was all they had and so Faramir made sure to let Aragorn have what he needed. That it filled him with a pleasure he had never felt before was a bonus. Affection, aside from his brother was not freely given in his family and the alienation he had felt from his father he had fought against all his life. He was a warm person, a man for whom a gentle disposition was a natural calling. He had love to give someone and he needed it from others, especially now that his brother was in all likelihood gone.

He sighed, holding Aragorn close, resting his head on the King's shoulder. It was quiet in their alcove, the rest of the world a muffled presence farther off and for a moment, he considered more than an embrace. Then Aragorn sighed, slowly disentangling himself, sitting and staring into the loving eyes of his unexpected prize."I did not expect you, Faramir," he said, smiling slightly. "Now I cannot imagine continuing without your strength and your love. That coldness ... that winter ... it is not something that I would care to face."

Faramir smiled slightly, tears burning in his eyes. "I miss my brother. He was the only one in my family to whom I was close. You are an unexpected gift."

Aragorn smiled and leaned down, kissing his partner softly on the lips. "Someday, maybe ... it might be better. I would hope so, Faramir. I dream ... when I dare ... of a quiet place with you alone."

"I dream of Minas Tirith, of lying in my chamber with you. I dream of lying on white sheets."

Aragorn smiled and kissed him, sighing sadly. "I think I would like to take food with you."

Faramir smiled. "I will fetch it."

He rose and turned, slipping out silently, Aragorn's eyes upon him. He leaned back against the cave wall, tired and thoughtful, images of destruction and chaos in his mind. The palantir would be helpful, more than a bonus and as he waited for Faramir he considered what would come next. Maybe he could contact the Elves ... maybe someone in Valinor would hear his pleas. He did not know if that was possible, his tired mind unwilling to parse it out. Tomorrow, he considered as he waited for his lover. Tomorrow.

***************On the trail ...

They reached the guarded borders of the rebel army late in the night, pausing to prove their bonafides to the sentries. Then they were led through, going to the heart of rebel territory. Pausing outside the cavern that was the main home of the fugitive army, a sentry went inside to talk to the was dark and cold, the starless sky deeply black overhead. Pretty soon, he returned, gesturing for them to follow and they entered the cavern and disappeared from view.

***************At the same time ...

The sound of footsteps roused them both and they raised their heads, peering up into the apologetic face of a guard.

"My Lords, we have refugees from Gondor and Rohan. Among them is a dwarf and two halflings."

Aragorn felt electrified and moved to get up, nearly climbing over Faramir as he did. They rose and moved into the main cavern, passing sleeping and resting soldiers before reaching the door and pausing. Faramir glanced at Aragorn and then the group waiting. A booming voice cried out and then Aragorn smiled. It was genuine and delighted, the most naturally fine expression Faramir had seen given to anyone but him since the great ordeal had begun. Aragorn stepped forward and hugged the dwarf, exclaiming his joy."Gimli!" he said, shaking his head. "I thought you had perished on the Fields of Pelennor."

"That was a misapprehension," the dwarf replied, his cocky self-confidence endearingly evident. "I was detained is all." Then he turned and gestured behind him to small figures standing together. "Look who we found."

Aragorn's eyes opened wide and he smiled again, reaching out and hugging Sam off his feet. Then he turned to Frodo and kneeled, taking his bandaged hand into his own. "Frodo. You are injured."

"It was that Gollum. He bit poor Mr. Frodo's finger off takin' the Ring."

Aragorn glanced at Sam sharply and rose, gently guiding the hobbits toward a quiet alcove. Gimli and Faramir followed, the group settling on boxes and sitting silently while Aragorn unwrapped the bandage. It was healing, he could see and he whispered to a captain of the guard what he could need to re-bandage the wound. Turning, holding Frodo's hand gently in his own, he noted Frodo's ill complexion and his sadness. "Gollum turned upon you then," Aragorn said sadly.

Frodo nodded, glancing up at the man, his large eyes filled with pain. "I was at the brink when it overtook me. Sam had it and then I grabbed it back. I turned to throw it when Gollum jumped and knocked me over, biting my hand. The Ring was lost and I was undone. I am to blame for what has happened. My weakness."

"There, there, Mr. Frodo. No one else could've gotten the Ring that far. It wasn't your fault, was it, Strider?"

Pleading eyes looked into Aragorn's and he nodded, looking at Frodo sadly. "No, it wasn't your fault, Frodo. You did what you could and it didn't work out."

"Where's Gandalf?" Frodo asked, glancing up as the guard returned.

Aragorn took the bandages and water, settling Frodo's hand into the warm basin, drawing a wince of pain from him."

Gandalf has not been seen since the battle," Aragorn said sadly. "I last saw him near a Nazgul."

"This is terrible. We're lost without him," Frodo said, closing his eyes in sorrow.

"Gandalf, if he is still alive or aware, will not desert us. He has always been a friend of Men and Elves. I cannot believe he would turn away from us now," Aragorn said, hoping silently against hope. "This wound is healing, Frodo. I will dry it and apply this salve," he said, nodding to a small white pot next to bandages. "Then I will wrap it. You should be reasonably healed and agile within the week."

"Then we can stay here," Sam said, looking pointedly at Aragorn.

Aragorn glanced up surprised. "Of course you can," he said, nodding.

"We were afraid, you see," Sam began haltingly. "We had the Ring and it ... we ... that is to say-"

Aragorn cut him off with a gesture. "No one is blaming you. It did not work out as hoped. It was attempted against great odds to begin with. Now we must do what we can with what we have."

"The world will fall," Gimli said, watching Aragorn wrap the bandages.

"Perhaps. Maybe it was written thus long ago. I do not know. I just know that as long as I can hold a sword, I will not give in."

"Sounds reasonable to me," Gimli replied, smiling slightly. "Have you seen the Elf?" he asked, a gravely tinge to his voice betraying his deep worry.

"The ... *Elf*," Aragorn began with a grin, "Is alive and well and moving back to base camp with his patrol. I am sure he will be delighted to see you once more, all hale and hearty."

Gimli shrugged, pleased but not too showy and grinned. "I have a tale or two to tell," he said.

"I am sure you all do, but let us get you food and a bed. We are most pleased to see all of you. You are *most* welcome." Aragorn turned and whispered to the captain and he rose, leaving the area to gather food and sleeping accommodations for the new members of their army.

"I am glad you survived," Frodo said, sighing wearily. "I despaired of ever seeing anyone again. I did not believe we would survive to get as close as we did."

"We made our way from the battlefield, retreating from the enemy and gathering men as we went. There are more out there, making their way to the mountains because the word out there says that here is where you come," Gimli said, taking a pint of ale from a man who held more.

They took their drinks and began to eat from a platter of cold meat, cheese and bread and butter. The food was plain but very welcomed and by the time they were finished, the mood had improved.

"What are your plans, Aragorn?" Gimli asked, glancing at the silent and pale figure of Faramir, who sat near to Aragorn without saying a word. Faramir had left for a moment and then returned, his face strained as if from hearing bad news.

"We will hold our own, protecting and retrieving our people and make it dear to the Enemy to come into our lands. We have created a Pale that is the length of the river, a no-man's land for our security. That is the plan, such as it is. Doing more is a pipe dream and an exercise in futility."

"You would delay the inevitable," Gimli offered.

"There is nothing more we *can* do without intervention from the Valar or Aman."

"There is no likelihood of that is there?" Sam asked, his face hopeful in spite of his deeply held belief that there would be no rescue in the end.

"There is *always* hope," Aragorn said, wishing he felt it more in his heart.

Frodo sighed, leaning against Sam in his weariness and Aragorn rose, tugging him gently to his feet. "Come, sleep," he said kindly, watching as a guardsman took them away. "Master Dwarf, we have a place for you to rest, unless I have insulted you with the merest suggestion of frailty."

Gimli grinned and rose, his cocky self emerging once more. "I will forgive you, laddie, so pleased am I to see you once more."

Aragorn nodded and watched as he left, Faramir and himself alone once more. Faramir rose and they walked through the cavern, entering their alcove again. Faramir paused, allowing Aragorn to lie down first before joining him on the bunk. They settled again, Aragorn spooned behind his lover, silence falling once more.

"It is good to see the halflings again," Faramir whispered, his voice glum.

"You met them before?""In Ithilien," Faramir replied, sighing softly. "My father ... I provoked his wrath when I allowed them to continue onward. They held the future of us all in their hands."

"They did," Aragorn replied, nuzzled the bend of Faramir's neck.

Faramir closed his eyes, shutting out the angry and cold face of his father, the warm laughing eyes of his brother and the gleaming white beauty of his home city. They were all gone now, only the moment remaining and so he turned over and offered himself to his lover. If he could push away the ghosts and the weary and overwhelming gloom of despair that was his constant companion, he would be able to continue onward for another day.

Aragorn shifted, covering his body and buried his face in the warmth of Faramir's neck. Strong arms encircled him and strong thighs gripped his side as Faramir surrendered his body to Aragorn's dominion. He raised his head, staring into Faramir's face, stilling at the sight. Faramir's eyes were closed and his face sad, tears silently slipping down his cheeks.

Aragorn leaned down, kissing them away one by one until they were gone. He kissed along Faramir's jaw, the prickling of his beard soft against his lips. Leaning down again, he kissed Faramir's lips, whispering to him soothing words of love and comfort. Boromir was there, a ghost between them and he did what he could to assuage Faramir's pain.

It was his custom to speak with every new refugee from Gondor and ask questions about the fate of his brother. Once again he was disappointed and it pained Aragorn deeply, impelling him to soothe the sorrow of his partner.

The morning would be difficult, more uncertain than today but at least some of their friends were being accounted for one by one. He pushed it all out of his mind, concentrating on this moment of lying together in peace. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

***************The next morning ...

"You look fit and hale."

Elrond turned, gazing coolly at his lover. "You have a terrible sense of humor."

Gil-galad grinned slightly. "Consider *my* position. I have lain with my lover for the first time in eons only to see him go and lay with his wife."

Elrond flushed, moving closer, gripping the King's arm as he steered him to one side. "You would shame us both if you spoke any louder. I am caught in a vice not completely of my own making."

"You only have to choose, Peredhel," Gil-galad whispered, staring heatedly at his soul mate. His eyes were kindled with lust and possession and for a moment time fell away to the very first interlude when that look had captured his innocence and claimed it away. Esquired to his king, he would do whatever he asked and when Gil-galad had come to him that night, nothing could he deny to that overpowering force of nature. They had lain together for the first time and Elrond had become something other than just an intensely conscientious and competent young squire with an illustrious and fabled pedigree. The great intellect and cool reasoning that he brought to every eventuality was lost when that piercing and heated gaze took him in.

He had stood in his doorway wearing only a dressing gown, his long hair falling about his shoulders in dark sheets. Gil-galad paused, captivated by Elrond's beauty and then they struck the deal without a word between them. Gil-galad asserted and Elrond capitulated. By the morning's rise he had given up his soul. The King would possess him completely and without reservation and he would serve him until the end and love him beyond his demise.

That it came in so fast a manner, catching him off guard in the extremehad been the bitterest moment of his long and event-filled life. They had been together, fire and ice, the rational and the emotional and then it was over and he was alone in the peak of his years. That he had taken a wife was not unusual. What should have been a signal that all was not well was the age at which he had done so. Celeborn was his friend, his colleague and his ally. He wanted his only daughter loved by a good man. Elrond was all that and more he wagered and so Elrond had agreed against any reservations that he might have held.

At no point in his marriage, at no point in the endless years did he ever forget the heat of that gaze. It came to him unsolicited and he coped as best he could, falling into routine with a good woman and children. Now he was here, the heat returned and he felt the grip of a vice on his heart and his mind.

"You break my back with your demands," he whispered, watching the expression change on his king's face, a look of longing and pity combined.

"I will not ask until this situation is decided and then it must be put forward. I know what I want and I know what it will cost you but I know that I cannot live without your presence in my life."'

Elrond closed his eyes and sighed, swaying as a strong hand stroked his cheek. "One calamity at a time, I beg you."

"One at a time," Gil-galad replied, sighing himself with pent-up need. "We have to go now."

Elrond nodded and joined his side, the two walking down the corridor to the talks that were to begin.

**********On the east slope of the Misty Mountains ...

He looked up, scanning the tree line and knew they were close, if not on top of the place where they needed to be. The rebels were there, hiding in the forests and he had to get there and help in the fight. Boromir looked over his shoulder, nodding to his band and then without a backward glance, they moved forward. In seconds they had melted into the trees and were lost to view.

=0=

Dawn came and he rose, sore and discomforted from the previous evening. Aragorn was already up and he cursed his fatigue, washing up and joining the rest at table. Aragorn was in conversation with Gimli, their friendship reasserting itself and for a moment irrational jealously flashed through him. He quashed it, unwilling to begrudge his lover all the years he had before they met even as it stirred him in his precarious state.

"Good morrow, my lord," he said, sitting at the table, taking a plate that was handed to him.

Aragorn smiled, his eyes warmed at the sight of Faramir. "Good morrow. Faramir, do you know Gimli, son of Gloin?"

"Only in passing, amid the bustle and rush of war in Minas Tirith did I meet this worthy person," Faramir said formally. He smiled slightly, his heart aching and turned to take a glass of ale as well.

"Good morrow to you, Lord Faramir," Gimli replied with a smile. "It is a long time since Pelennor but I have not forgotten your hospitality to a stranger."

Faramir nodded, glancing at Aragorn who was watching him with a quizzical eye. He turned to his meal, the conversation again rising and for the duration of his breakfast, he said nothing. As they made ready to rise, a Rohirrim hurried in, leaning down and whispering in Aragorn's ear. A look of hopefulness crossed his face and Aragorn rose, turning to his lover. "Faramir, join me."

Faramir rose and together they turned, hurrying out of the alcove to the main cavern beyond. They hurried to the entrance, Gimli behind them and when they emerged in the growing sunlight, they paused. Standing and sitting in the foreground of the sanctuary, dozens of men at arms waited. There were men from all parts of the world, Rohan and Gondor, the Dale and the mountains, bows in hand, swords at their side. Standing before them, obviously their leader, Boromir of Gondor waited a look of grim determination on his face.

Aragorn stepped forward, gripping Boromir by the shoulders before embracing him in a bear hug. Boromir laughed and hugged him back, his exhaustion and relief evident, then he stepped back and held up his sword. "I am here to join you and I bring reinforcements, men of quality who will die for the West."

"*Live* for it, Boromir," Aragorn said laughing. "I accept you into our company, one and all."

Boromir nodded and then paused, his face stilling with shock and surprise. Standing near the entrance, himself transfixed, Faramir of Gondor watched silently. "Faramir ..." he gasped, moving haltingly and then quickly, enveloping Faramir in his arms.

For a moment Faramir didn't move and then he embraced his brother, gripping his cloak with his hands. No one said a word, no one moved as they held each other. Then Boromir gripped Faramir's shoulders, looking him over anxiously, checking him for injury before turning to Aragorn. "How is this *possible*? What hope can there still be that such things can be so fervently wished for and then come true?"

Aragorn smiled, glancing at his lover. "There are still miracles, Boromir."

Boromir nodded and looked at his brother, unwilling to release his grip on him. "Faramir," he whispered, shaking his head in amazement. "I had given up hope for you."

Faramir nodded, unwilling to speak and raised his hand to his eyes, brushing away tears. "I am dumbstruck, Boromir, for I had given up hope that anything good could be anticipated anymore."

"You need food and drink," Aragorn said, turning and nodding to his men.

They moved and the men went with them, disappearing into the cavern as the three and Gimli stood watching. Then Gimli turned and moved away, releasing Boromir's hand from his tightly held grip. Aragorn squeezed Boromir's arm and then turned and left the brothers alone. They watched him go and then Boromir gripped Faramir's shoulders, looking at him with an intense gaze."You are well?" he asked, anxiety in his voice.

"I am well now," Faramir replied, sniffling and shifting his feet. "I am sorry for my weakness, Boromir. I just ... I ..."

Boromir pulled him into his arms, squeezing him tightly. "Do not apologize for anything, Faramir. I am without words to describe my happiness. You are here and alive, something I never expected to see and I can die happy now, knowing you are well."

"You came from Gondor? What of Father?" Faramir asked, dreading the answer.

Boromir swallowed, turning and tugging Faramir and they walked to a fallen log to sit and talk. "Father was last seen near the Citadel. He was fighting the Enemy as they began to overcome the city."

"Then he's dead," Faramir said, tears coming into his eyes. He gripped Boromir's hand, holding it tightly.

"I have no hope that he lives," Boromir said, his throat tight with unshed tears. "But then I had no hope for you, dear brother."

Faramir smiled weakly, wiping his eyes and sighed deeply. "At least we can face the end together."

"Aragorn leads us now?" Boromir asked, Faramir nodding in agreement.

"Aragorn is our King and our Captain and we follow him now. He has devised a pale between here and the river and nothing crosses without paying a dear price."

"I noticed," Boromir said, nodding. "We were unmolested after we crossed the river. Coming here was less a task than a trek."

Faramir nodded. "There are four of us making the battles. Eomer of Rohan, now the King since Theoden is dead and Legolas of the Woodland Realm."

"My companion on the trek to Mordor. I am heartened to know he lives. Gimli is a stout companion as well."Faramir nodded. "Two halflings, Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee are here as well. They failed due to the ghoul, Gollum. Baggins had the Ring taken from him, finger and all."

"They failed then," Boromir said, sighing deeply. "I figured as much."

"They are deeply disheartened and Baggins is ill. They would have had it differently if the world were fair."

"The world is not fair, brother," Boromir said grimly, squeezing Faramir's hand. "But such are the times we live in. We can make a good account of ourselves before we die but promise me one thing on the life of our father."

Faramir nodded. "Anything."

"Promise me that when the end comes you are by my side. I do not want to die, Faramir, not knowing your fate. Be by my side and we shall stand and fall together."

Faramir nodded, a tear trickling down his cheek. He wiped it and nodded, unable to speak for a moment around the lump in his throat. "You have my word."

Boromir nodded, relaxing slightly and then rose, tugging his brother to his feet. "Come. I am hungry and weary and there is much to discuss about what is happening."

Faramir nodded and together they turned, walking into the darkness of the cavern once more.

***************In the Undying Lands ...

He finally arrived, a regal and ethereal figure riding a white horse and attended by his court. The great king of the Vanyar, Ingwe of Aman had ridden up into the courtyard of the house where discussions were being held. He dismounted and turned, smiling at Gil-galad as the two greeted each other. Turgon greeted him in turn, the group chatting together as nearby, waiting quietly, Elrond stood with those junior in status among those gathered. Other Elves stood with him, Glorfindel moving to greet Ingwe, protocol giving him pride of place.

Ingwe turned and the group moved closer, pausing before the younger Elves. They bowed and Ingwe returned it, though somewhat less due to the greatness of his station. They were introduced, Ingwe enormously gracious and kind and then they entered the great house and refreshments were had. People talked together, Gil-galad and Turgon mingling, mixing the different actors in this tense and fateful drama. When at last the moment for discussion came, they were ushered into a great room where chairs were arrayed in a circle.

Ingwe sat with his herald and his advisors, while around the circle others took their chairs. Celeborn sat with Galadriel, Haldir standing behind him, while Oropher and Thranduil sat side-by-side. Behind them, standing as a statue, Ellan of Mirkwood attending his lords with his usual perfect and dignified attention. Elrond sat beside Gil-galad, as befitting a king's herald and behind him stood his sons, while beside him sat his daughter. Celebrian stood by the window, too nervous to sit and Erestor stood by the fireplace, ever watchful and attentive. Glorfindel, pausing to chat with Ingwe, smiled and nodded and moved to his seat. Others sat, great figures from history but the greatest trial ahead was to seek Ingwe's help.

It was silent a moment and then Turgon rose, beginning the discussions as the eldest petitioner there. He looked at each, resplendent in their finery and felt the crush of expectation fall upon him. "My brothers, my sisters, long has it been since a gathering of Eldar this illustrious has been commenced over such a serious matter as that before us. Great realms, both here and in our heart home are represented in this room as well as hosts of people who depend upon our wisdom. This trial that we discuss today had its roots in the very beginning of the world, both here and in Middle Earth. It is as if the past is reaching out to reclaim us, to make us take amends and do what should have been done long ago.

"Each of us, excluding you, my great Lord," he said, nodding to Ingwe, who nodded back, "We all have our hearts on another shore even as we are grateful that this one is here to grant us shelter as was willed long ago. A terrible calamity, perhaps the worst ever faced, is unfolding in Middle-earth and we have to take stock. I left the world long ago, falling into Mando's Halls, slain defending my city against invasion. In the darkness of that limbo, I took stock of my life. There were many terrible grievances that I have had to work through. I had many obligations, many sorrows and unfinished tasks and now I am here, compelled by my heart to try to do right once more.

"For that is our nature, doing right for the good of doing so and the question before us is simple indeed. Are we as moral as we truly hope we are or will we turn away now, allowing the forever night of tragedy to enfold our brothers, the men and women who cannot flee to these shores through no fault of their own? I am inclined after eons of rumination to believe that I cannot in good conscience call myself moral if I turn away. I am here because I believe that I have an obligation to the suffering that is just beyond the reach of our sight.

"Each of us have a duty to search our consciences, to see if those ideas and morals that we hold so closely oblige us to act. I feel with the benefit of reflection that we do and so I am here to weigh in on the matter." He paused and sighed, shaking his head. "In the dark days of the oath, when we turned in madness upon each other, I was lax in coming to the aid of my kindred sometimes. I felt that I could not and I did not reach out when perhaps I had that duty. That I will have to bear as my burden alone. But I think, my good friends, that we have to think of larger issues than just the one small place that we now call our home. The Beast is loose and the world is in shadow and we cannot think that it will only end there." He turned and nodded to Celeborn, the next highest in age and honor in the circle of the decided.

He nodded back and rose, staring at each in turn as he gathered his thoughts about him. "I torched my homeland, burning everything rather than letting it fall to the Beast. I am still suffering from the wrath of doing so and so I know that should I be the only speaker, I would lose your goodwill. My heart is filled with rage, of the like I have not felt in ages. I am suffering for the people left behind as well. A darkness has overtaken us, a night without end and the people left behind are blameless." He turned and began to pace, pausing by the fireplace, Erestor's dark eyes meeting his. "There is much to atone for among us from our history. Much lies between the kindreds even now because of it. The Kin-slayings ... they are like stones in our bellies, weighing us down and keeping us apart. But those times are past and we can not change them. But we can atone for much by what we do now." He turned and looked at Ingwe. "We asked you here, lord, because we require your intercession, your fabled gift for speech and friendship to bridge the chasm of the past.

"We need the goodwill of the people and the Valar, we need their help to save the world. There are others more gifted with words right now. I am torn asunder and they fail me." He smiled slightly, shaking his head. "I, the counselor. I, the one to whom nations came for advice. I am without any comment that is not clothed in wretchedness. I would therefore give you my broken heart and my sorrow, my anger, my hopelessness and my fears. The world lies in war, in plague and pestilence and we, I believe in my deepest heart, still have a part to play." He turned and nodded to Gil-galad, himself the next senior in obligation among the designated leaders.

Glorfindel watched him, his face impassive as the King of the Noldor rose to speak. "Perhaps it is the respite in Mandos that makes the morality of this moment so clear to me. Beyond the sea, on the shores of a world so beautiful it was among my first returned memories, people suffer and die. They are not our people, most of those are already here and the rest are coming as fast as they can. But others are there, good and decent people, born into the world long after the tragedies of the past.

"And tragedies they were, these events that have shaped this moment, all of them stemming from unresolved conflicts. The Nameless One ... the one who ravages the world now ... these monsters were of *our* time, not theirs. But they are left to fend for themselves and I cannot bear it. I *cannot* bear it. How could any of us live here and prosper now? How could we enjoy peace and health when the end of the world is just off our shores? Some of the people who are fighting the long defeat ... they are the children of our most ancient friends. Numenoreans. The Atani. They are there too, Elf friends of the ancient times dying without succor.

"I do not have the words either that this moment demands, so I concede to others more gifted that way." He turned and stared at Elrond, his face filled with emotion and turned to Ingwe, clearing his throat. "This person before you is Elrond Peredhel, the great-grandson of Turgon and the son of Earendil and Elwing. He is here to speak to you from the ashes of his great sanctuary, Imladris, which he burned with his own hand."

Gil-galad turned and nodded to Elrond, who nodded back as he rose to his feet."My lords and ladies, I am honored to speak. But the seriousness of the occasion fills me with dread. I have to find words to make you love the world across the sea and the people who live there. I must move your hearts and your wills, making you care as much as I about the horror unfolding and cast your lot with us, those of us who know the best what is at stake. I must tell you in words things that are intangible, the beauty of the land and the great heart of its people. It is a terrible burden to make you understand what is at stake, to make you care with the same degree of devotion that we feel about what will be lost. It might be impossible to make the wonders of Middle-earth visible before eyes that have not seen them as they lay before us now, populated and settled by good people. But it is my terrible task and I shoulder it willingly as the last best duty of my lordship in the lands of my birth."

He paused and turned to Ingwe, noting the kind expression on that great lord's face and sighed. "I know you have not been there for ere a long while. It is a beautiful place, our homeland. People live there mostly in peace and prosperity but now there is no respite from the coming of the end. There will be enslavement and death, tears and wailing. All of this is true. It is already happening. But now, here in this room, we must define who *we* are and hold that up in the light of what is happening.

"Are we truly good people? Is the common thread of decency that seems bound through the volumes of the ages of our lives the truth? Or is it a fallacy, a mirage ... a falsehood that we comfort and applaud ourselves over when we speak about our achievements and our culture? Have we drifted so far from our most sacred thought, that here in the end times we can turn our backs on our age old enemy, a Maia of great wroth who would destroy all that forged us? He is *our* foe too, this soulless and godless beast, this demon from the beginning of the world. They cannot defeat him and without help will perish and take all with them that is good and fine.

"We can stand here and watch it or ignore it or fret over it but I believe to remain who we truly are we must act in concert. Long has it been when the hosts of Valinor stood forth with banners and trumpets to sound our resolve. Long has it been since the great kings of our people stepped onto foreign shores to do what was right. But it happened once when the world was younger and now I beg for it again without the faintest hint of shame.

"It is in our hands, great lord of the Vanyar and we beseech you to help us find a way. You are most beloved of our greatest lord, the King of Arda and we seek your intercession for the sake of our souls."

It was silent a moment and then Elrond turned, concern on his face over the effect of his words. He paused, his eyes meeting Gil-galad's and then he walked over, sitting wearily in his chair, his hand rubbing his eyes.

Glorfindel watched him and then he rose, breaking the stillness of the room. He turned to Ingwe, smiling slightly, sighing as he did. "You know our heart, all of us gathered. We seek to know yours, my lord. You have the greatest honor among us for you are without stain. The Lord of us all loves you best. The Fair Folk, they call you, you and your kindred and we need your great service to save the world. You do not have to step in and lend us your support but I am one who would believe that you would regret it someday. I had a chance to stay here when I came back from Mandos but the suffering of Middle-earth drew me away. I do not regret it for I have assuaged some small part of the suffering that has been borne since these many years. But I ask you as a brother to search your good heart and see if there is any place in it for our request."

Ingwe sat a long time silently and then he rose, pausing before them. He was brilliant and golden, as beautiful a figure as any ever devised and then he sighed deeply a thoughtful look on his face. "You move me, all of you. I am not without sympathy for your request but I put one caveat on what you ask. Cajole and enlist Elwe and I will be able to act more swiftly and with more collective agreement." He stepped closer, peering into Celeborn's disappointed face. "We know of your loss and your sorrow. We know of the suffering beyond the sea. But the past is ever prologue and we must make sure that the very real grievances of all are also addressed. Talk to Elwe and commit him to the venture and I will personally intercede with the lord of us all."

He turned and bowed to Gil-galad, Turgon, Elrond and with the tip of his crowned head to Celeborn, he turned and walked away. Down the steps he went, entourage in tow and by the time they had mounted, the rest of them were watching nearby. He rode away like a shining god and was lost to view as he headed for his home in the foothills of Taniquetil.

Elrond sighed, shaking his head, glancing at Gil-galad who stared after Ingwe, a thoughtful look on his face. He turned to Elrond and nodded toward the house, walking away from the group without comment. Elrond glanced at Glorfindel, nodding to his smile and turned to follow his king. The others stood together, talking for a while and then the group broke up, Turgon going to his home. Elrond walked down the hallway following his king and when they reached a paneled and book-filled library they entered together. Elrond walked inside and Gil-galad poured them a drink, handing a glass to his lover. They tapped them together, Elrond waiting as he watched the wheels turning in his master's head.

"You are not discouraged," Elrond said.

"I cannot be discouraged. I am the king," Gil-galad said, reaching out for Elrond, gripping his neck gently as he considered his thoughts. His fingers threaded through Elrond's hair, then he pulled him in for a kiss, a possession freely taken from the only one he would ever love. He sighed and caressed Elrond's cheek, then walked to the desk and poured another glass.

"You are a single soul," Elrond said, gauging the bullnecked stubborn set of Gil-galad's shoulders. "What do you think you could do to make Elwe change his thoughts about the affairs of Middle-earth?"

Gil-galad turned and smiled at his herald, walking to stand before him once more. He gripped Elrond's head and kissed him on the mouth, taking from him that which he desired. A demanding thing it was and Elrond savored it, the forceful nature of his lover as soothing and intriguing to him now as it always was. He let his lord have what he needed and wanted and when Gil-galad relented he smiled like a cat.

"You are beautiful when you are kissed to the degree that you require," Gil-galad said, smirking slightly.

Elrond smiled, a defiantly bemused look on his face. "You are like a storm at sea. It is much easier to sail with the wind than to break apart on the shoals."

Dark eyes narrowed and the hand gripped his hair, holding him still. "Break apart ... you have no idea how I thought I would, missing you so terribly across the sea. Now you are here and I am in need of you, my Peredhel. I want you in my bed tonight. There are eons of loneliness that I must satisfy between us, so long have I yearned for your blessed company. Tell me that you will come, Elrond, or I shall perish from sorrow."

Elrond nodded, swallowing hard and when the King kissed him again, he was completely in his thrall.

=0=

Eomer led the way, the group between them and Legolas at the rear. They had not talked about their changed status during the days they had been on the trail but each night they slipped away into the darkness to fulfill some painful need. During the day, they worked together seamlessly, developing a wordless shorthand of gestures and looks that made their work easier, coded though it was and when they camped they would wait until the evening was nigh.

Eomer would stare at him heatedly, then rise and go into the bushes, finding a place where he couldn't be seen. Legolas would follow, sensing where he was and when he reached Eomer they would fall into lust. Eomer was slightly taller and broader of shoulder, his armor of leather compromising his availability but it didn't matter to Legolas since it was usually a brisk tussle and then he would lie on the ground between Eomer's legs.

He could lose himself in the act, bringing his partner to a level of passion that was painful to watch as Eomer silently and violently thrashed on the ground. When it was over, Eomer would sit up and gaze at Legolas, himself usually squatting on his haunches, wordlessly waiting for his own gratification. He would silently stare at Eomer, almost willing him to do violence but when Eomer pulled him into his grasp it was invariably gentle.

He loved Legolas' face, his delicate bone structure and he loved Legolas' mouth and his soft lips. The Elf would lie back and let him have what he needed, biting his lip as the flames rose. The first time Eomer took him it was an unexpected surprise, a new chapter in his growing book on the strange ways of men. Even as he lay on his stomach, the touch of his lover surprisingly soothing, he was not clear that he would be taken until it was too late.

He gasped, startled and then willed himself to relax, finding in the rough gallop a pleasure unknown. Eomer lay on him, pressing him to the ground and the friction was stunning against his own groin. But more so was the pressure and the electrical sensation of his lover thrusting himself inside. Eomer's face lay on Legolas' shoulder and his breath with each jolt felt warm on his cheek. He grunted and groaned, thrusting into his lover until with a shuddering groan he arched and then relaxed.

Legolas lay beneath him, his own mind in tatters and when Eomer rose, he didn't move for a moment. Then he rose himself, pulling himself together, catching Eomer's glance as he tightened his belt. They paused, staring at each other, their intense expressions revealing everything. Then Eomer leaned forward and kissed Legolas softly.

Without another word, they returned to their camp and lay down next to each other on the cold hard ground. When morning came, they ate their camp breakfast and then without fanfare, left with their men. They would be home soon, as the cavern had become to be known and maybe, Eomer thought, they would talk together. Glancing back at the Elf, he wondered what he was thinking now that they had crossed the last boundary that could exist between men. Turning, his eyes ever watchful, he led them onward until at last they were lost in the forest from view.

**************Nearby ...

Frodo sat at the entrance to the cavern, his injured hand resting on his lap. He had washed up that morning, Sam helping him and now he sat in the middling sun out of the way. All around him men were moving, coming and going, delivering and taking away whatever they would. He felt useless but he was desperately glad to be there and he looked down at Sting. It hung on his belt mocking him.

As he did, someone passed him, someone tall and fair-haired and he watched the figure as he paused in the foreground. He had been stopped by someone, a Ranger from Ithilien and they talked together of things he couldn't hear. It was Faramir, tall and handsome, the son of the Steward and Aragorn's right hand. They were close, Aragorn and Faramir and it warmed Frodo to know that the solitary Strider had company. Then Faramir turned and paused, noting Frodo, turning and walked toward him to sit for a moment.

"How do you feel?" he asked, looking at the bandage on Frodo's hand.

"Better," Frodo said, smiling slightly. "Aragorn has the healing touch."

Faramir smiled, nodding. "That he does."

"Your brother is here. I am glad for you."

"Boromir is dear to me," Faramir replied, nodding. "Do you know the King well?" he asked, his curiosity a moment

Frodo pondered and then he nodded, temporarily derailed by the question. "I am slightly well versed in his history, courtesy of many who lived in Rivendell."

"What can you tell me, Frodo, son of Drogo?" Faramir asked, leaning back against the cavern wall.

"He is The Dunadan, the King of Men, the Heir of Isildur and beloved of many."

Faramir nodded, smiling slightly. "He is beloved by all of us."

"He grew up in Rivendell under the tutelage of Master Elrond and when he was old enough, he learned who he truly was."

Faramir nodded. "He is rightful heir of Gondor and if it mattered any more, we would make way for the rightful king. As it is now, we have anointed by acclimation, giving him sovereign dominion over all of our company."

"He is a good man," Frodo agreed, nodding. "Many have said so, many here and there. She felt he would one day take his rightful place on the throne of his fathers."

"She?" Faramir asked, looking at the hobbit, a small niggling worry creeping into his mind.

"Arwen Evenstar," Frodo replied innocently, unaware of the feelings of the man sharing his company. "She is the daughter of Elrond and the most beautiful woman ever to live since the time of Luthien, or so they say."

"She was a friend of Aragorn?" Faramir asked, modulating his voice to cover his disquiet.

"They were more than that, I think," Frodo replied. "I think they were to be married but this trouble interfered. He loved her dearly and he wears her token, a necklace of silver and jewels."

Faramir nodded, his heart squeezed painfully. "And now? What of the two of them?"

"I am sure she has gone over sea to the safety of Valinor," Frodo replied, watching as Aragorn walked up. "Good morning."

"It is a bit after the morning. How do you feel?" Aragorn asked with a smile.

"Much better, thank you," Frodo replied, watching as Aragorn knelt down in front of him, checking over the bandages that secured his hurts. "I wish to be useful."

Aragorn smiled, nodding and glancing at Faramir. "There are things to do when you feel more well. In the meanwhile, I suggest that you rest and recover your strength."

Frodo nodded and sighed, glancing at Faramir as Aragorn gracefully rose. He turned to his partner and nodded. "I need your advice," he said quietly, Faramir rising to follow his king. Aragorn nodded at Frodo and smiled slightly, the two disappearing into the cavern once more. Overhead the sun was shining, a rare occurrence lately and so he leaned back and closed his eyes.

Faramir followed Aragorn, pausing by the table where maps and reports were kept. Aragorn glanced at him and began to outline the sorties that he had planned for their men over the course of the coming three days. They were loathe to plan farther ahead, nothing being certain. Faramir watched him as he detailed things to several group captains.

He didn't add anything, nothing more to be required but he noticed that Aragorn didn't delegate him away. Faramir was never sent off with groups that did not include himself, even though his skills were extraordinary, so set in his mind was Aragorn that he would stay with him. Boromir stood nearby watching the planning and then glanced at his brother, his gaze fixing. There was something about Faramir this moment that caught his attention, something ill defined that tugged at him.

Faramir sighed and glanced his way, a mask immediately covering the vulnerability that had illuminated his face. For a second it was there and then it was gone and Boromir made a promise to himself to ask him about his woes. For surely they were there, as ever they were and now Faramir was taking more effort to hide his wrapped things up and glanced at Faramir, turning at the same time from the sound of voices nearby. He put down a map and walked with his men, moving toward the door of the cavern. In the light streaming in, he saw a sight that warmed him, Legolas and Gimli greeting each other at last.

Standing behind him, his face filled with disquiet, Eomer of Rohan watched the scene. For the first time since they had found the mountains, Legolas had joy in his face. He hugged Gimli, gripping his shoulders and laughing aloud, so relieved was he to see the Dwarf again alive and well. Eomer walked past, nodding to the Dwarf and continued past Aragorn to the place where he slept.

Aragorn grinned and glanced at Faramir, stilling once more at the ghost of his pain. "Faramir? Are you not well?" he asked quietly, searching Faramir's face for some sign.

"I am well, my lord," Faramir replied, squeezing Aragorn's hand in his own.

Behind them, watching closely, Boromir caught the exchange. He frowned slightly, surprised by the intimacy and promised to talk to his brother later that night. This was his first day here, he was a stranger and even if friends were around him, he was yet odd man out. He would feel his way and fight with the warriors, securing his position in the hierarchy here. People moved here and there as Aragorn talked to Legolas and Faramir turned, moving toward the back of the cavern. He noted Eomer and walked to his side, pausing by a man for whom he felt good company.

"What did you find in your adventures?" he asked, sitting on a barrel.

""Many orcs, all now dead of course," he said, smiling slightly. He looked back, a frown forming. "The Dwarf has returned I see."

Faramir nodded, catching the odd inflection in Eomer's voice. "Are you bothered?"

Eomer turned his dark eyes on Faramir, shaking his head as he straightened stiffly. "No. Should I be? For what reason?"

"I do not know. You seemed angry."

"Perhaps," Eomer replied, pouring water in a bowl. He pulled off his shirt, rubbing a sore arm muscle and then began to bathe himself of the trail grime.

Faramir watched him, noting his powerful musculature and his tall rangy build tempered by a lifetime of hard and prolonged work. A bruise gleamed darkly on his neck, the kind only a lover could put there. Faramir looked at it and wondered who might have made it since there were no women in camp or around. Glancing toward the other part of the big open cavern, he considered Eomer's remarks about the Dwarf.

"What has made you angry, Eomer?" he ventured. "You seem angry about the return of the Dwarf."

"I am not bothered," he lied, toweling himself off. "What care I for a Dwarf or no?"

Faramir considered those words and then he considered Legolas and the partnership that the two had forged from their ordeal. Things seemed clear to Faramir as he studied Eomer, pulling on clean clothing as he finished his spit bath. His long hair was then washed and by the time he had fashioned it in the custom his people commanded, he seemed less irritated than before.

"Have you eaten?"Faramir nodded, rising from his seat. "I will keep you company." The two turned and walked to the table to dine.

***************In a chamber in the great house ...

Celeborn stood by the window, his bare chest pale in the moonlight as the clouds parted for a moment. Lying in bed, her hair in long plaits, Galadriel watched him with worried eyes."Come to bed, husband," she coaxed gently.

He glanced at her, sighing deeply, too troubled to sleep. "I am too filled with torment to sleep just yet."

She sighed and relaxed, lying like a goddess against the snow white of the sheets. "You must not be harried by this, husband. We have hope yet."

"Do we?" Celeborn asked. "Do we have any? You must appeal to Melian and get her support. Thingol takes her counsels."

"I will do what I can," Galadriel replied.

Celeborn nodded and sighed, settling on a chair, staring at the moon as it weakly shown. "What is happening in the east, wife? What can we hope will be left when the talking is over?"

Galadriel didn't reply, her thoughts filled with terrible images as they spent the night together waiting for the dawn.

***************In another chamber ...

She lay in bed, curled around her husband's pillow, watching the shadows play on the floor. The window was open and the breeze was fresh. She had dinner with her family and Elrond had excused himself, making his way to the king to make plans for the next step. She had gone to see her mother, the two enjoying the interlude and then had returned to her lonely bed.

The children were out, spending time with friends, too restless to relax until more was known. She knew her father was outraged and that something would have to happen or she couldn't guarantee that they wouldremain here.

The thought of going back disturbed her greatly as did the idea that their beloved valley lay in ashes. Closing her eyes, she settled on memories of happier times in far away places. The sun was shining and the children were little and her husband was invincible against the cares of the world.

***************In another chamber ...

He groaned, gripping the sheets, his eyes closed tightly as sweat trickled down his face. He hunched on his knees, his forehead pressed against the sheets. Behind him, gripping tightly, the King of the Noldor was taking his pleasure. He had returned to the King's chamber, falling into his arms as if magnetically drawn and in the ensuing match found himself pinioned upon his knees. He was shivering with intense anticipation, memories of other times filling him as even the king did without hesitation.

He groaned and shifted, bearing the invasion stoically, bracing himself as the king took his leave. It was madness, the pleasure and the pain mixing together and he knew he would be sore in the morning. The King was beyond reasoning now, taking his herald with abandon and as he did, he felt the years fall away. They weren't in Valinor, they were back in Harlindon and Elrond graced his bed every day they were together.

Gil-galad slowed, willing himself to last and to extract as much pleasure as he could from the pliant body of his lover. Elrond was beautiful and he would bear the King's marks on his thighs and his neck when he left this night. Madness it was that made him do it and madness it would be if they were ever discovered.

But he didn't care, so much did he desire Elrond and so he made him his own in his inimitable way. He surged and then leaned down, pressing his face against Elrond's back, exhaling painfully as he came. It wasn't very pretty and it wasn't very delicate but in the moment he found himself, it was what Gil-galad needed. He reached down and entwined his fingers through Elrond's hands, squeezing them until he heard his lover grunt in had been so long, too long for him and he needed this person to the point of pain. They were stilled a moment and then Gil-galad sat back up, peering down the back of his lover. Black hair, damp with sweat, splayed over his flushed skin like a web. He was kneeling forward, his head on his arms as he gasped and shifted beneath his lover's hands. Gil-galad released him reluctantly, helping him settle and lay down beside Elrond, his hand resting possessively upon the round of his buttocks.

"You are a wonder to me, melme," Gil-galad whispered, wiping the sweat from his eyes.

"You have maimed me," Elrond replied, his voice muffled by his arm.

Gil-galad smiled. "You bear my brand now."

Elrond snorted and turned over, settling his sore ass with a flinch and a groan. "I shall have to soak."

"You will. I made sure of it," Gil-galad replied with a grin. He rolled over lying alongside his lover, splaying his hand over Elrond's breast. He could feel the dark nipple harden, a rough pebble beneath his palm and he gripped it, rolling it gently in his fingers.

Elrond sighed, allowing the longed-for intimacy as he had allowed the king to possess him once he crossed the threshold of the door. It had purged him of eons of solitude and grief and even as he knew he should, he didn't regret a thing.

"You have a lovely body. Even age improves you."

Elrond smiled and looked at his lover. "You have not changed a day."

Gil-galad smiled, a cocky look on his face. "I do not recall that you ever complained."

"I never did," he said, caressing Gil-galad's hand, the sensations of his teasing fingers entirely welcome to his starved desire.

Gil-galad rose onto his elbow and leaned down, kissing Elrond firmly. He lingered, making his point and then lay back down, lacing his fingers through Elrond's hand. "You will leave me soon enough," he said, sighing. "I want you to have something to remember me by."

"As if I could forget you," Elrond said wistfully.

"As if I could ever let you go," Gil-galad replied. He rose again, staring into Elrond's face, memorizing that beloved visage against the night alone. Then he leaned down, capturing Elrond's mouth, kissing him until he groaned before leaning back once more. "I will not release you from the past, my Peredhel. No matter what happens, I will always love you."

"And I, you," Elrond replied, his voice soft with love and pain.

"You and I, we are star-crossed."Gil-galad nodded. "We are. And we will settle this before it is all said and done."

Elrond nodded, closing his eyes, moving to settle into Gil-galad's arms. They would lie together, then Elrond would bathe and dress and after many kisses would leave Gil-galad alone. His King would bathe later, dressing against the morning and sitting by the window, wait for the sun to rise.

***************Far away ...

"You are quiet tonight," Aragorn said, watching his partner wash up, pulling on clean clothing for the next day. He had already done so, sitting on the bunk, tired and ready to sleep.

"I am all right, my lord," Faramir offered, turning and gazing at his lover.

Aragorn rose and walked to him, slipping his arms around Faramir's waist.

"You call me 'lord' in private? I thought we settled that already."

Faramir swallowed hard and nodded. "Forgive me. I am just overcome at the return of my brother."

Aragorn smiled slightly, kissing Faramir softly. "I am happy for you at the return of Boromir."

Faramir nodded and then tentatively, raised his hand to Aragorn's neck. He touched the silver chain and gently tugged the ornament into view, holding it in his hand even as he himself was held. "What is this? I have always wanted to ask you."

"It is nothing," Aragorn replied, taking it from Faramir. He released his lover and removed the jewel from his neck, holding it in his hands for a moment. Then he turned and put it in his pack, returning to Faramir, gazing at him with concerned eyes. "It is a gift from an old friend. It means nothing to me anymore."

"Where is this old friend? Who were they?" Faramir asked as Aragorn slipped his arms around his waist once more.

"She is gone to the Undying Lands to be with her people. It is no one you would know."

Faramir nodded and leaned forward, kissing Aragorn softly on the mouth. He tightened his grip, laying his head on Aragorn's shoulder, relaxing into the gentle touch of the King's hands on his back.

Aragorn held him, loving him deeply, the emotion of it filling the hole in his heart. That part of him, the past, was gone over sea and all he had now was the present. Faramir kept him human when all the rest fell away and he dedicated himself to the youngster in his arms.

Faramir sighed, holding onto to his security as all around him the shadows of the world pressed hard upon him. Boromir was here and that helped him a lot but it also added to his burdens at the thought he might be killed. There was no refuge for him but in the arms of his lover. Only there could he pretend that what was happening might end differently than it probably would.

The ghost of another hovered nearby and he pushed it away with all of the rest. They were on their own and the end would come eventually. What they had right now had to be enough. Beyond the curtain, others were sleeping including hobbits, men of many lands and a mountain Dwarf. Slipping out through the entrance, an Elf made his way, determined to find one man in the quiet night. Eomer stood by a fallen tree, waiting for his lover and when he arrived, they fell to the ground together.

Far away a demon loitered, enjoying the spoils of his victory as his armies slowly gathered to finish the war. But for now in isolated places individuals took small comfort as ever the Shadow pressed onward to the sundering sea.

=0=


	4. Chapter 4

=0=

He slipped in and found his place in the bed, his wife sleeping silently beside him. He closed his eyes, sighing softly, the duplicity of his actions throbbing in his conscience. He turned and faced the door, curling up slightly, unwilling to touch Celebrian lest he disturb her. He didn't want to awaken her, fearing her questions and so he lay on his side and waited for dawn.

***************In another place ...

"It is not what I expected."

Elladan glanced at his brother, his cool gray eyes considering him thoughtfully. "We are not meant to be here as long as the world is in chains. When it comes time to go back, I will do my duty."

"Mother looks well," Elrohir replied. "I am glad to see the two of them together again. It has been so very long."

Elladan nodded. "I am too. But the King ... he worries me.""Do not let it disturb you. The marriage bands are not to be taken lightly. And all of that was ages ago, when there were less obligations and diversions in Father's life."

"Maybe," Elrohir replied, shaking his head. "It is all too strange for me to be among the people who for me were only names on parchment for the whole of my life."

"I know," Elladan replied. "Our grandfather ... who would have believed that we could know our family from the Elder days?"

Elrohir smiled, nodding his head. "I know," he said, turning to go. "I am hungry."

"You are *always* hungry," Elladan said, clapping his brother on the a grin, they continued in, heading for the kitchen and a late night meal just the two together.

**************In Middle-earth ...

"I lost track of you in the fighting," Legolas said, smiling at his friend.

Gimli grinned. "I was busy. What of you? What about all of this?"

"We fled here, those of us who could and we have been gathering people everywhere we could. It is the last refuge for us here in this world and I fear that it will not stand long when the demon gathers his strength at last."

Gimli nodded, shifting to lean back against the side of the cave. "And you? What have you learned about your family?" He asked tentatively, watching the play of emotions on the normally serene face.

"I have heard very little. They burned our home and the people retreated westward, apparently making it across relatively unscathed. At least as far as I can find out." He paused a moment, staring at the sky. "I do not know about individuals. I just hope that they are alive and well."

Gimli nodded, uncertain about what to say. "I am sure they are safe. Your father is a redoubtable man. He would have made it happen."

Legolas smiled, staring at his hands, picking at the calluses on a finger. "I hope so, Gimli," he said, looking at his friend with a smile.

Standing nearby, pausing before entering the cavern, Eomer watched them, sitting near to each other, heads bent together as they talked. A frisson of anxiety hit him, searing through his gut. He watched them, old friends and colleagues and considered what it might mean. He wasn't sure what they had, the two of them together, but he had come to depend upon it. With a silent sigh, he turned away and went inside.

***************Nearby ...

"You seem pensive."

"I am tired. It was a shock having you come back."

Boromir nodded, staring at his brother with a knowing expression. "I am at wits end to know that you are alive and by my side. I did not dare to hope, for hope has forsaken us, brother."

Faramir nodded, staring at the toe of his boot. "I have only the hope of each day rising. There can be little beyond that, this small begrudged cadge of hours. Yet I hope somehow, in some unknowable way, that there can be more. I hope so for more than just myself."

"You and Aragorn, you are close?"

Faramir nodded, glancing at his brother. "We were together on the battlefield and the retreat brought us into close quarters. From there one thing led to another and we are here, fighting against the Enemy as best we can."

Boromir nodded, considering his next questions. "He is admirable, that one."

"Aragorn?" Faramir asked, looking at his nodded. Faramir sighed and leaned against Boromir's shoulder. "He is a very worthy man."

"I must ask you and you know me ... I am not a man of subtle ways."

Faramir nodded, sitting straighter, his arm around Boromir's shoulders. It was silent a moment."

I must ask if there is more than comradeship between you and Aragorn. I must ask if there are ... feelings between you."

Faramir looked at his brother, struggling for the right kind of answer, unclear on Boromir's mind on such a subject. "I ... why do you ask?"

"I thought I saw more than brotherhood between you," Boromir said, taking his brother's hand. "I just was curious, that is all. I am concerned about you because you are my brother."

Faramir nodded, laying his head on Boromir's shoulder. "I esteem him above all others and accept his love with gratitude and joy. I give him my own and hold him close in my heart."

"Then you are more than comrades ..."

Faramir thought a moment and then sat straighter, staring at his boot once more. "I am his lover."

It was silent a moment and then Boromir nodded, the pounding of his heart shrill in his ears. "That is something for me to digest."

"You do not approve." Faramir didn't look up, afraid to see disappointment in the eyes of his brother.

"I did not say so," Boromir replied."

Please don't," Faramir said softly, glancing up with anxious eyes. "I am filled with weariness, Boromir. I hang on day-to-day sometimes but I must be strong, for it helps him and the others. That is a heavy burden for me to bear all-in-all of late, such is the state my feelings following the death of our kingdom. I am struggling to revive my heart and your return does me more good than I can express. Yet I am filled with disquiet. Do not take from me what comfort I can find with your disapproval."

Boromir took his hand and squeezed it, nodding. "Very well."

Faramir exhaled tiredly and rose, pulling Boromir to his feet. "Come. I will show you your bed."They walked past hobbits and men and elves and when they entered the cavern it was quiet again.

***************A short time later ...

He moved to the side of the bunk, staring down at the sleeper. Then he knelt, placing a hand on the chest of the occupant. Eomer opened his eyes, blinking as he looked over and stilling as he saw Legolas in the dim light of a torch. For a moment they didn't move and then Legolas turned, sitting on the bunk and tugging off his boots. Moving backward, he stretched out, settling his back against his lover while Eomer spooned behind him and enveloped him in his was silent a moment and Eomer took Legolas' hand, squeezing it in his own as his anxiety receded a little.

***************Morning in another place ...

He ate with his family, sharing small talk and when he excused himself, they watched him go with intense, unwavering eyes. The door closed and Elladan sighed, looking at his brother for a moment. Then he smiled and rose, excusing himself, leaving the room and walking down the corridor.

He paused and stepped back into a shadow as ahead, Gil-galad and Elrond were talking King was very close, his fingers entwined through his father's hair and then he leaned forward and kissed him possessively and well. He felt ice pierce him and his feet were rooted as he stood watching as the King had his way. Then they turned and walked on, moving out of view but Elladan stood a long while staring, coldness filling his heart as he digested what he had seen.

***************At a meeting ...

Celeborn sat, his fingers steepled and waited for the rest of their council to arrive. They would have to move Thingol, getting him to agree to the plan. That would be monumental for there were few among them so entrenched in the past. He had been angry enough to ban Quenya from being spoken in the world of his control, which was pretty much everywhere at the time and it had faded to become merely an ornamental language. A few spoke it in private, mostly traditional Noldor, but it had fallen from common use under his command.

Now they had to woo him, to bring him into the picture or Ingwe would not go to Manwe with their plea with the blessings of other chieftains. They would have to win this one to make it easier for the Vanyaran Lord to secure enough of his brothers to make it work. He sighed, considering the lovely days of life in Doriath and the love that Galadriel had for Melian. She would be key, the one to appeal to and so it would be as they waited for Elrond. All of the others were there but Elrond and the King and he considered that pairing, another relic from the past.

It was sensible that things would intersect, that the past and present would stand side-by-side here in this land of second chances. He was considering all the miracles he himself has encountered, his parents and long gone friends and felt the divided loyalties that surely plagued Elrond. He knew that the King and Elrond had been lovers and that his son-in-law's inclinations were probably toward men. But he had married his only child to the Elf he felt would be best positioned to give her the life he had hoped for her to have in the uncertain world where they had children between them, they had honor and years but there was a tension here that could only come from the past. Elrond was with his deepest and most passionate lover and it could bode no goodwill when the crisis was resolved. He pushed that away as he considered Thingol and the difficulties they faced. Nothing could detract from the road ahead.

The door opened and Elrond entered, followed by the King and they took their seats in the circle of friends. For the next four hours they would debate and conference and at no time during the meeting did they not rue Gandalf's absence.

***************In the mountains ...

The patrols stood out, moving like ghosts in the early morning dawn. Eomer and Legolas led their own, Gimli in tow. Others of Gondor and Rohan and scattered places left on their way to the battle that lay in the flat lands nearby. Faramir stood with Boromir watching the sunrise. They would go with Aragorn and see to the incursions at the river. Scouts of the enemy had been coming, stirring through the forest fringe and they were worried that their sanctuary would no longer be his bow and quiver he strapped it firmly in place and turning to Boromir, smiled. "We begin again."

Boromir smiled and clapped Faramir's shoulder. "As ever we did."

Aragorn came from the cavern and joined them in the clearing, men filling their ranks and then they left. Frodo and Sam watched them, big grim men moved swiftly and then it was silent as they faded away. Sam glanced at Frodo and then the woods, wondering once again where it would all end.

***************In a great house in Valinor ...

She sat in an anteroom, waiting for an audience with the Lady of the House. Her gown was white, her hair golden and for a moment the years fell away and she was just a young woman aching for adventure. A door opened and a radiant woman appeared, standing and smiling at her with joy on her face.

Galadriel rose and curtsied, her own smile blinding and then the Lady stepped forward, embracing her protege. They held each other tightly and then Melian smiled, looking Galadriel over. "You are as lovely as ever you were, Alatariel."

Galadriel laughed, the first time since the fall and smiled through her tears. "I have missed you, my Lady. All the sad years that have deprived me of your company and counsel weigh like stones on my heart."

"Then come and talk to me, like we once did long ago and tell me of your life in the ages past."

They walked together, hand-in-hand to a room filled with flowers and sunlight. The clouds overhead parted for a moment and it seemed that time had turned backward. They sat together hand-in-hand as Galadriel of the Golden Wood poured out her heart.

***************On the trail ...

They passed through the woods, silent as cats, unseen but seeing all that moved. Beyond was the silver ribbon of the river, slicing the flatlands into two pieces. Scrub would be their only hiding places when they left the forest but it was also the only shelter for the enemy. Faramir paused and gripped Aragorn's arm. Pointing beyond, they all knelt and looked.

A thin wisp of smoke rose from a thicket of bushes, a campfire made by someone who by simple odds could not be friend. They settled down to wait, dispersing along the tree line, pausing to see if they would show themselves. The sun was hot and Boromir shifted, glancing back to look for Faramir. He was sitting on the ground, arrow made ready as he stared at the fire on the slope below.

It seemed like forever before the bushes began to rustle and three orcs stood, staring around. All along the line, bowmen made ready, fixing each enemy with the point of their arrows. Another orc rose and then two more and they made ready to continue their journey to the hills. As they stealthily moved from the bushes to the open, Faramir caught the nod from raised his bow and his arrow went flying, piercing the head of the orc who lead the group. More arrows flew and before they could make a sound, six orcs lay dead on the gravel. They sat in the trees, watching all around them and then a small team moved forward to search. They took back their arrows, pulling the carcasses down to a vine-filled defile and threw them in. In seconds they had regrouped and fallen back, the land undisturbed once more.

***************Valinor ...

"I *saw* them."

Elrohir nodded, glancing at Arwen. Arwen sat pale and pained. "We cannot let Mother know. She is so happy to have Father here."

"I *hate* him," Elladan hissed, pacing in the chamber. "He touched Father like he had the *right*."

"They *were* together for ages," Elrohir ventured, drawing a sharp look from his brother.

"Father is *married*, sealed before the Valar. You *know* what that means."

Arwen sighed and rose, coming between them. "We must not talk of this to Mother. No one must do this. I will speak with Father myself."

For a moment they didn't speak and then they nodded, identical responses and identical gestures. Then she smiled slightly and walked to the door, pausing before looking back. "You cannot treat the King any differently. He is the King of our people and that must not be trammeled." Then she turned and walked out, down to the beachhead and there she paced for the rest of the day.

***************Middle-earth ...

They found bands of orcs right away and the fighting was fierce, slaughter the general outcome of each event. They seldom lost their own people, each attack so planned to their favor but the enemy fell, orcs one-and-all. Legolas considered what it would mean with Uruks, the well-armed and smarter foes being tougher to fight. As it stood now, he thanked the Valar for the orc foe they invariably faced and moving with his patrol, made his way down the slope.

Eomer followed, his eyes ever roving as they headed for the shoreline of the silvery rolling river. Orc sign was there and they would have to clean them out, killing them where they stood whenever they were found. It soothed him, this carnage because it helped assuage the pain of not knowing what had happened to his sister in Edoras.

The thought of her falling into the hands of the Enemy was a nightmare that came to him all too often. He took out his rage on the necks of the enemy, praying some day to even the score.

**********In a meeting in a mansion in Valinor ...

Glorfindel entered the room, a smile on his face and he walked to the group who paused to hear him."

He has agreed to see a delegation tomorrow morning. Lord Elrond is welcomed and so is Cirdan. I have been given leave to come but no other Noldor."

Turgon nodded, smiling slightly. "No kin-slayers."Gil-galad sighed. "He bears a grudge to the grave and back again."

"That is to be expected. The only worse thing to send to see him is a delegation of Dwarves," Turgon mentioned, smiling slightly. "I am considering others that might be persuaded to join us tomorrow at the King's house. But I will not tell you in case they demur and dash your hopes before we begin."

"That would be deeply appreciated," Elrond said, nodding to his grandfather. He leaned back and glanced at Gil-galad.

"You are going because you are the son of Earendil and Elwing and he holds them in esteem," Gil-galad said, musing on his lover.

"Your parents are held by us all in esteem," Turgon said, nodding in agreement. "It would do you well to see them before much time goes by."

Elrond glanced sharply at him, his eyes narrowing. "I was not sure that could be accomplished."

"Why not?" Turgon asked.

"I do not know," Elrond replied, shifting in his seat. "I do not understand how he sails and if it means that he comes here when the night is over. I am unclear of much."

"You are," Turgon said. "They come here at the break of dawn and they are here all day. You must go and see them, Elrond. It would do you all a good service."

Elrond nodded numbly, a task he had filed away as impossible beckoned him onward. Glancing at Gil-galad, he rose from his chair, pausing uncertainly as he stood. Gil-galad rose and took his arm."Do you wish company, brother?" he asked.

Elrond looked at him, uncertainty written large on his face. "I would," he replied. "Please."

=0=

"Here. Drink this."

Elrond took the proffered glass and sipped it, feeling the burning liquor slide down his throat. His hands felt tingly, rather like the aftermath of electrical shock and he sat light-headed and suffused with dread.

"You look very pale," Gil-galad said, fussing as he sat next to his lover. "Perhaps you need to lie down."

"I ... just give me a moment," Elrond stammered.

It was silent a moment and then the King reached out and pressed a stray lock behind Elrond's ear. The Peredhel looked at him, holding his glass in his hand and seemingly unaware that he was doing so. Gil-galad removed the glass and moved closer, stroking Elrond's face with the back of his hand. "Are you going to be all right?"

"I ... I have gotten used to the idea that I am alone essentially, estranged from that part of my life over which I had no control," Elrond said, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat. "I cannot give myself any hope of things being different. My brother is always be gone from my life. It is as if I have been cleft in twain, so bitter was that parting from me. I have lived an entire life knowing that my parents would never be in it and now I am told that this is not true." He swallowed and rubbed an eye. "My father sailed to find his parents. They were never found. Are they here? Who else among my dearest kin is here?"

"Dior," Gil-galad replied. "He is here. So is his wife, your grandmother. Your father, mother and his parents also. Tuor and Idril are here, long here. It is the biggest relief of Turgon that he can have his daughter near to him again."

"He said nothing to me," Elrond replied, painfully."He has not told you as I have not told you. There is little time, my brother. We have to make our way to rescue the world and leave personal matters to later and better times. It is the curse of our station."

"They *could have come* to see me," Elrond said, images of his brother as a child filling his mind. "I know I am ... my rational mind agrees with ... with your words but my mother and father *should* come to me. They should ask me to tell them of Elros." Elrond looked at Gil-galad with eyes filled with tears and misery. "How can they ever know about Elros? There are no words for him ..." He fell silent and stared at the floor and then with characteristic strength of will he gathered his emotions together. "It must come later," he whispered sadly.

"It will, melme," Gil-galad replied. "I swear to you on the lives of my mother and father that you will see them again."

It was quiet in the room as they sat together, Elrond telling tales of his brother as a child. Gil-galad smiled and listened, nodding and adding details of his own as they sat together in the privacy of the empty room.

***************On the trail ...

They made their way along the riverbank, hugging the shrubs and scrub brush. Old tracks of orcs led to the river but they would find no game to hunt today. Eomer stood on a rock and peered into the distance, seeing nothing moving on the plain beyond. He climbed down and rejoined the group, resting on rocks in a small recess in the cliff side."

Nothing on the other side," he said to Elf nodded and rose to stand. "We had better move back then. The night will be coming and I do not like the open when the stars are out."The clouds had broken and the sun was shining, an added warmth and a welcomed sight. They rose and moved away, heading back toward their own lines and in seconds they were gone without a trace.

***************In Lothlorien ...

He sat on his chair, watching the water dripping off the eaves of his shelter. In the morning he would leave for Mirkwood. The forest kingdom was his as well and he wanted to spend time perusing his acquisitions. Lothlorien would become the domain of spiders, the filth of the south forest could have this bastion him, scurrying to pack up their things, orcs moved with haste. He himself sat in splendor, garbed in rich clothing, his evil visage topped by an iron crown. He was the diminished echo of Melkor, a parody written smaller of the greatest and most evil menace that the world had ever seen. 

"My Lord."He turned his dark eyes, the piercing gaze that could not be sustained and nodded.

"He has been located. Our people are seeking to bring him to you."

Sauron nodded, filled with satisfaction that such news could be given. "I want him brought to Mirkwood, to the house of Thranduil. Do it as soon as can be accomplished."

The orc nodded and bowed low, scurrying out into the dim and smoky forest beyond. Sauron smiled, considering the things that Saruman would suffer because of his treachery. Sitting back, filled with contentment, he considered what he would do with the Wooded Realm.

***************Morning ...

He rose, considering the task before them. He had risen early enough to elude his family, preferring silence to prepare for the problem at hand. It was a two-fold ordeal, this meeting with Thingol. First, there was the problem of getting his support against Sauron. That would be difficult and he prayed he was up to the task. Secondly, he would be meeting his great-great-great-grandfather and grandmother. That part was daunting, this familial and Beren. They were names in his family tree but nothing more than that until now, merely delicious and inspiring tales to be read as a youth. But the idea that he could touch any of his family, to make real any of the names didn't seem possible. Sure, he could come here. Sure, it would seem reasonable that many, if not all of them would be released at some point from Mandos Halls. However the idea of actually *seeing* them was something he could not gather into any reasonable frame of reference, the actuality of it was still too new.

His parents has been the shadows of his existence, people he could barely remember, whose good name he had tried to carry forward on his own shoulders. They had done everything they could to make peace and to end war and he had always been spurred to follow their example. The years of captivity, of living with the enemy had moderated him and made him almost clinically rational about any number of things. You did what you had to do in your acceptable code of conduct and guarded your innermost core, ensuring a future of your own choosing at some point in time. He had done that and for all of his illustrious life, he had tried to conduct himself in a way that would make his parents proud.

Now he could see them, how, he didn't know. But he would when the time came and he could put aside this new burden. Pausing by the window, he stared at the rough and steel-gray sea and wondered once again how many of those he knew still lived. Filled with determination, he turned and walked to the door, heading for the courtyard and the horse ride to Thingol's in a window, their gray eyes ever on him, his children watched as he mounted his horse. Cirdan was with him, Glorfindel, Erestor and others who would ride with him in his honor. Ever by his side, resplendent as befitting a monarch, Gil-galad of the Noldor had pride of place.

***************On the trail ...

They ate their hard tack, sipping water and resting as the sun continued its journey toward home. Faramir sat beside his brother, leaning against his shoulder, immensely gratified to have him there. Boromir smiled, handing his canteen to his brother and turned then his gaze upon Aragorn nearby. He was kneeling beside Halbarad, his kinsman and his comrade and talking together in a low tone about the trail studied the rangy figure who loved his brother and wondered what could have happened that this should be so. Faramir was gentle, kind and courtly with wonderful manners, yet he had never known that he had infatuations of any seriousness. He was beloved by many, his qualities admired. There was no lack of opportunity for the son of the Steward. Yet Faramir had not taken anyone into his heart, preferring solitary pursuits, driven by their father to be something he probably wasn't. Faramir had become a Ranger of great skill, with a military mind for maximizing resources while minimizing risks.

Boromir had noticed with enormous satisfaction that his men loved Faramir greatly, even as he, Boromir was loved. They were a good match, these two different personalities and Faramir was his closest friend, the only one who he would confide to over any serious the older brother, he had worries of his own. Their father had faltered in his reign and so the burden had fallen ever heavier upon his shoulders. He had picked it up manfully, doing the best he could tempering his stubborn hot-headedness against the seriousness of the situation that had become their last duty to defend.

In the end they had fallen, the city in flames, their father most likely slain, sword-in-hand. Now they had only each other, the two of them miraculously finding each other alive and for that Boromir would ever be grateful.

"What are you thinking?"

He glanced at Faramir. "Just ... everything and nothing. You?"

"I was thinking it would be good to be gone from here before dark. I am filled with foreboding."

Boromir glanced at him, more than aware of his foresight. "What do you see, brother?"

"Nothing specific," Faramir replied, resting his head on his brother's shoulder. "Just a foreboding, that is all."

Boromir nodded. They sat together a while longer and then they all rose and melted into the woodlands once more. Behind them, the river was a silver strip sparkling as it paralleled the mountains, the dividing line between the lost world and the free.

***************On the road ...

They rode together, a dazzling sight of lords traveling in formal splendor to greet other lords of great power, not that common a sight in these parts in spite of things. Elrond sat straight, his eyes taking in the beauty of the world that would be theirs forever. The journey to Thingol's mansions was a long one and they would be in the saddle for many hours. By the time they reached the home of the great lord, lunch would have been had on the trail.

Gil-galad rode beside Elrond, Glorfindel and the others behind as banners snapped in the crisp morning breeze. Cirdan was slightly to Elrond's left and rode silently, his mind occupied by many things. The King sighed, sitting as straight as an arrow, well aware of the import of the moment on all.

Thingol was Elrond's grandfather, three generations removed, the father of Luthien and the grandfather of Dior. He hoped that Dior would be there as promised, adding another edge to the game they would play. Thingol was a stern man, a hard man about his honor but the state of the world could move him if it were put to him correctly. He hoped that Elrond would be able to pull out another miracle and make things happen that he, himself, for many reasons couldn't even ask.

They rode together, clouds drifting across the sky, blotting out and freeing the sun on her journey. Far away in lands uncounted the shadow of Mordor made its inexorable way.

****************Night fall ...

They arrived at the cavern, weary and hungry. Aragorn paused at the door to gather reports. Many more orcs were seen and many of them neutralized by the skill and surprise of the roving patrols. The only way they would be able to breach the rebel defenses would be to do so in force. They were sure it would come eventually to that but for now they would hold the enemy to a line of demarcation and hope for the best, even as they knew they had no future ahead.

Boromir paused by the door, Halbarad with him and watched as Faramir excused himself and joined Aragorn. They stood together, their arms almost touching and Boromir wondered again at the enigma of his brother. Turning, he grinned. "I'm bloody hungry."

"You read my mind," Halbarad replied with a smile.

They turned and entered the cavern, finding food and drink, eventually making room at the table for Aragorn and Faramir. They made no mention of the news, at least while they were eating and when Eomer and Legolas arrived, listened to their reports.

"Then the enemy is making incursions south of us. They must be making for Orthanc," Aragorn mused.

"I suppose it could be a fortress from which to rove out," Faramir replied. "But it is a drowned and useless thing without enormous amounts of work."

"They could do it," Boromir ventured. "Of course, it would mean drawing away orcs that otherwise could fight."Aragorn nodded, smiling at Frodo, who brought him something to drink as he served others. The hobbits had made themselves useful, cooking meals and taking care of things that the soldiers were too weary or untrained to do. The level of the cooking had risen greatly and morale had been improved among the men. The hobbits were glad to be useful and were very diligent, earning the friendship of the troops as they came and went.

Aragorn watched Frodo, pleased with his healthier complexion and then turned and gave his attention to the matters at hand. "They are probing our defenses and we must be diligent. If they find a weakness they will come through in force."

The others nodded, resolving to do their best because more than that was out of their hands. Faramir sipped his ale, thinking about summer in Minas Tirith when he was a young man. Then he turned and looked at Aragorn, stilling for a moment for even though he was talking, Faramir couldn't hear his voice. He looked at the others, seeing but not hearing and then his vision turned to black.

For a moment he just sat there and then he rose, his vision clearing once more. They were all sitting around the table talking together, but there was no chair for him to sit and they didn't notice him standing there. He stared at them, unreality suffusing him and then he turned and walked toward the cavern door and the yard just beyond. He stood by the opening, staring up at the sky, the vision of a great sailing ship clear to his stared at it, the white ship gliding through the heavens and on its bow there beamed a great light. It illuminated the darkness and pushed back his fear and weariness, giving him an enormous sense of peace of mind.

He smiled and waved his hand, although to whom he didn't know and then he turned toward the cavern and it was gone. He was standing in the alcove that was his quarters with Aragorn. The King was sitting on the bunk, his head in his hands. Faramir felt his grief and he knelt to touch him when the grip of another jolted him back.

"Faramir?"He looked blankly around, blinking, then staring into Aragorn's concerned eyes. He licked his dry lips as he gathered his wits. "I ... I am sorry. I guess I just drifted off. I must be more tired than I thought I was."

"Faramir ... did you have a vision?" Boromir asked, concern on his face.

"I just ... I just lost track of where I was," Faramir replied, rattled by the eyes that focused upon him. "I am fine, Boromir. Truly I am."

They sat a moment and then turned back to their conversation, Boromir and Aragorn giving him brief glances from time to time. When the dinner broke up and they went to rest for the morrow, Aragorn gripped his arm and steered him into their alcove. When they were inside, he grasped Faramir's shoulders, staring at him anxiously for a moment. "What did you see?"

Faramir considered his question and then sighed wearily. "I think I saw the Mariner ... Earendil. At least, I *think* I saw his ship sailing across the sky with a great light at the bow."

"The Silmaril," Aragorn replied, nodding his head, his eyes focused on Faramir's face. "And? Was there more?"

"You took my arm and I lost the vision. I just felt a sense of peace from it that I have not felt in a long time."

"Earendil," Aragorn considered, thinking through his store of lore. "I do not know what it means. But it might be something good, something you needed for yourself alone."

Faramir nodded, smiling weakly. "I cannot interpret it but it made me feel hopeful."

"Then that is good," Aragorn replied softly. He leaned in and kissed Faramir gently, pulling him in as Faramir responded. They held each other in the quiet of their alcove, the rest of the world at bay for the moment. "You must tell me when you have a vision, Faramir. I need to know what you see."

"Do you think that it matters?" Faramir asked, rubbing his cheek against Aragorn's.

"It did last time you had one," Aragorn replied. "The 'sword that was broken' ... it made a difference. It brought Boromir to the Quest."

"The Quest failed," Faramir gently reminded. Then he kissed Aragorn softly.

"Perhaps. But then perhaps as well, the Valar are trying to tell us something through your keen senses."

Faramir nodded, smiling slightly. "I will tell you, Aragorn, all that I know."

Aragorn smiled and hugged him tightly, images of his ancestor filling his mind. Tonight he would go out and wait for the night star and pray to his kinsman that something might change.

=0=

The day dawned and Aragorn rose, moving gently to rise without waking Faramir. The younger man groaned slightly, settling back once more as Aragorn walked to the basin nearby. It sat on a box and he poured the basin full, washing quickly in the cold water. He dried his face and turned, noting Faramir's eyes on him."How do you feel?" Aragorn asked, pausing for a moment.

"i feel fine," Faramir replied. He sat up, sighing deeply as he rubbed his face with his hands.

"How often do you have visions?" Aragorn asked, pulling on a clean shirt and fastening his belt.

"Not often," Faramir replied, pausing. "Well, not in a predictable way. I have had them all my life."

"It is said that your father had them," Aragorn replied.

"He did. My father could see things before they came to pass."

"Boromir? Does he have that capacity?" Aragorn said, moving to let Faramir use the basin.

"Not that I could ever tell," Faramir said, splashing his face. "He did have the first vision once, the dream that led him to Imladris. We argued over who would go and see what it meant. He won, of course. He always does. He steps in and takes hard tasks on."

"He protects you," Aragorn said gently.

"He does," Faramir replied, smiling slightly. "Then he gets hurt himself when it was my place. I fear that he will die in my place some day."

"Is that a fear or a vision?" Aragorn asked, handing him a shirt.

"Neither. Both. I do not know clearly but the idea of it has been with me a long time. It fills me with disquiet."

Aragorn turned him around and looked at him, measuring him for a moment. "You can live in fear or you can live. It seems to me that you have a great gift. Just remember it *is* just a gift and not the last word of things."

Faramir smiled and slipped his arms around Aragorn's neck, relaxing as Aragorn hugged him tightly. "I have a vision."

"You do?" Aragorn asked, swaying gently as he held his lover.

"I dream of a time when we can be together and the threat is not upon us."

"What do you see?" Aragorn asked.

"A summer's day by a lake some place. A summer's day, you and I together walking along the shore by ourselves. I dream of it, being alone with you, taking our pleasure in the comfort of a real bed."

"As do I," Aragorn replied, smiling. "Some day, if the world is not lost, perhaps we can find our way to a lake some place, a lake dappled by the sun."

Faramir smiled, squeezing him tightly and then a sound on the other side of the curtain broke the moment. Aragorn kissed Faramir quickly and then turned, stepping out to speak to someone. Faramir stood a moment and then turned, his eyes falling on his bunk. For a moment it was normal and then sounds faded around him. He stared at the doorway and then back at the bunk, starting at the sight of Aragorn sitting upon it. He held his head in his hands, his shoulders were sagging and then he leaned back, letting his arms fall to his sides.

He was distraught, his eyes wet with tears but he made no sound as he bitterly wept. For a moment he didn't move and then he sat up and looked at his pack, reaching into it and taking out the jewel that he had worn until Faramir's enquiry. He stared at it and leaned down, resting his elbows on his knees. He pressed the jewel against his face, gasping with misery and then rose, walking toward the curtained door.

He passed it and walked out, the cavern filled with sleepers and Faramir followed him, his disquiet growing. Aragorn walked into the clearing in the front of the cavern and stared at the sky, at the brightest star above. He looked at the jewel, the brilliant silver token and then at the sky and the star above.

"Why!" he called out. "How *can you* stand by? Is there not enough that are *dead* without -" He didn't continue, bringing his hands to his head and then he fell to his knees in despair. "How am I to go on? How can I go on? How much blood do you have to ignore before you hear our despair? How can you sail the sky and not hear our lamentations?"

Faramir walked to Aragorn and knelt in front of him, staring at him with anguish. The jewel was in Aragorn's hand and the sorrow of bitter tears on his face and he didn't know what it meant. He reached out but he couldn't touch Aragorn's face, the older man sitting and weeping without a sound.

Faramir rose and looked at the heavens, the ship once more sailing through the midnight sky. A bright light shown like a beacon in the darkness and the soft sound of words whispering filled his head.

"What would you give up?"

The words echoed through him.

"What would you surrender for the salvation of those you love?"

He turned to Aragorn but he was no longer there, the walls forming around him of their living alcove. He turned around, staring frantically about until he paused, his heart pounding in his chest. The pack was lying by the bed and he longed to take the jewel. He wanted to take it and fling it away some place where Aragorn couldn't find it. What it meant to him, Faramir didn't know but it felt doomed somehow and therefore dangerous.

"Faramir."He turned, pausing to stare at Aragorn, who stood half in the alcove. "Are you all right?" he asked, his eyes darkening with worry.

"I am fine," Faramir said. "I was thinking I need to trim my beard."

Aragorn smiled, rubbing his own face. "You and me both. Come. Let us eat and move out together."

Faramir nodded and moved with Aragorn into the cavern and its rising activity. They would eat together, making plans for patrols and before too much longer, they would be gone on their way. He would not tell Aragorn about his vision this time.

***************At the same time ...

"You have little to say."

Legolas stared at Eomer, slipping his belt through its loops. "You are hardly a master of debate," he replied, a smile gracing his lovely face.

Eomer smirked and rose, gripping Legolas' arm. "Neither of us are. That does not mean that words are not necessary. I think we should talk. After all, that is the only intimacy that we have not recently shared."

Legolas smirked at him, pausing and holding his gaze. "You wish words now? After all, I have given you my carnal body and you, yours. What words can do or undo that which has already transpired?"

"Do you wish to undo them?" Eomer asked, his dark eyes piercing Legolas' glib good humor.

"Not a moment," Legolas replied, his voice soft and breathy. He sighed and looked away from the heat of Eomer's eyes.

"Then what does it mean to you, Legolas?" Eomer asked, persisting with great discomfort.

Legolas turned and looked at him. "At first, it meant great surprise. I am not given to strangers, taking that which is sacred to me and handing it over with wrath and ill temper. I burned much that was harsh and intemperate in the heat of our couplings. That is what I first came to know."

"And now?" Eomer asked, stepping closer. Their chests nearly touched and Eomer slipped an arm around the Elf.

"Now?" Legolas whispered, his eyes level with Eomer's. "Now I would grieve at your loss. Now, I would be bereft of contentment, of passion and the sense of belonging again. I am adrift from my family. My people have fled to the West, yet you were there when I needed you and that means much to me."

"Do you love me, Legolas?" Eomer persisted, his lips nearly touching his lover's. "Say you love me."

"You wish that," Legolas replied, his lips brushing Eomer's, the fullness of such ripe fruit making him light-headed. "You have that."

"You love me," Eomer persisted, his hands gripping Legolas' rounded ass as he slipped his arms tightly around him.

"You have it," Legolas replied, crushing his mouth against Eomer's as the big rangy man devoured him back. Legolas groaned and pulled back, stepping away and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "Do not start what cannot be finished here and now."

Eomer stared at him, like a predator at his prey and nodded, pulling Legolas roughly into his arms again. "You are then mine?" he asked, passion as explosive as a rushing waterfall driving him to know. "Tell me then that you are mine."

"Tell me, Eomer ... tell me what your heart feels."

They stared at each other, their hearts pounding as they spoke of things neither were inclined to say to another.

"I would kill any man that laid a hand upon you, fight any duel, suffer any indignity. I love you," he said, swallowing hard as his cheeks flushed red with emotional discomfort at so public a declaration. "I do not have the words to say to you what you might be more used to hearing, but I do love you and I want you to tell me that you are mine alone."

Legolas smiled slightly, shaking his head with amusement. "That cost you a bit to tell me of your heart."

Eomer nodded, tightening his grip of his lover, pressing his groin against Legolas'. His taut trousers plagued him and he squeezed his lover until he grunted. Legolas smiled and kissed him softly, pulling back from his tight embrace. "You have that from me, Eomer of Rohan. I am yours as you are mine until the end of the world."

"That may not take long," Eomer replied with a grin, his lust-filled eyes ever fixed on Legolas' face. He longed to press him to the floor and make him moan but they had to go and so he sighed deeply in frustrated lust.

Legolas smirked and leaned in, slipping his tongue into Eomer's mouth. Eomer closed his eyes and then it was gone, the tease of it pooling in the middle of his gut.

"You are a brutal wench," Eomer said, taking his sword from his lover."

And you are a brutal rider, horse master," Legolas said, picking up his own weapons. "I assume that we are meant for each other."

Eomer smirked and followed him out, grinning to himself that this one was his alone. As they walked to the dining room, pride of possession on Eomer's handsome face, he leaned toward his lover and smirked. "You will not get an argument from me."

*********At the Palace of Thingol of Doriath ...

They entered the great courtyard, the house set up high among trees just beyond them and they turned, pausing as others walked toward them. One of them walking along with Turgon was a beautiful man, tall with long and plaited dark hair. He had eyes that looked far, directly into your soul and as they paused before them, Turgon smiled.

"You came," he said, holding out his hand.

Elrond took it, smiling weakly. "I have a well-developed conscience, Grandfather," he replied. The tall stranger smirked, nodding as he stared at Elrond, his intense gaze upon him from the moment he rode in. Gil-galad moved to one side, seeking an unobstructed view. He glanced at Cirdan, smiling for a moment and then the kingly facade fell into place.

"That will please many, none the least this goodly figure," Turgon said, turning to the tall man. "I am honored in more ways than can be counted to introduce you, Elrond son of Earendil, to Dior, your grandfather and father to your mother, Elwing the White."

For a moment Elrond didn't move, his eyes flickering from the warmly smiling face of Dior to the king and back again. Then he took the proffered hand and bowed as he grasped it, his eyes stinging with tears.

"Grandfather," he whispered around the lump in his throat and then he was enveloped in strong arms.

They stood together, dappled light filtering through gently swaying trees as grandfather met grandson for the very first. Gil-galad watched them, feeling intense gratitude that a fatherless child could know his family again. Of their life together, little was spoken of the family that had died and fled, leaving Elrond and his twin behind. He had given great thought to this in the early years of his return from Mandos Hall and had made effort to find all of Elrond's kin that were living here. He felt great emotion and deep satisfaction as he watched Elrond slowly be surrounded by family he had never known.

Dior stepped back, his hands resting on Elrond's shoulders and smiled. "You are a beauty like your mother."

"I cannot remember her," Elrond said, his voice cracking. "I cannot recall her, Grandfather."

"Then you *must* meet her," Dior said, conviction in his voice. "You must meet your parents and tell them of your life."

"And my brother," Elrond said, wiping tears from his eyes.

"And of Elros," Dior agreed, his voice wistful. He turned and glanced at his companions. "I am going with you to help with your cause. My grandfather is a redoubtable man but not without compassion, his time in Mandos a reflective and goodly thing. He loves his family and will be well pleased to meet his grandson," he said, turning to smile at Elrond, taking his hand into his own. "As well pleased as I am."

Gil-galad smiled, turning to Glorfindel, who stood beside Erestor, a smile on his face. "Then you must go, my Lord Dior. And with you goes the prayers and hopes of a world in darkness."

Dior turned to Gil-galad and nodded. "I will do my best, as shall my grandson," he said, turning and smiling at Elrond proudly. "I have been made aware by those who are knowledgeable," he said, glancing back at Gil-galad, "that he is quite gifted in a number of things."

"I cannot know who you speak of, my Lord," Gil-galad replied with a grin. He reached out and squeezed Elrond's arm. "Go and meet your kin, my brother."

Elrond nodded and turned with Dior, walking toward the winding stairs that would take them to the talan of his grandparents, three generations removed. It was as if Lothlorien had come alive again, such was the beauty and tranquility of this lovely place. Galadriel and Celeborn had patterned their own kingdom on its unique and utterly Elven grace. At the fall of Doriath, when all was lost, Melian had taken its memory with her.

Standing in the gardens, weeping for her husband, she was reunited with him eventually. They had taken their own dominion near to his brothers and had rebuilt their lovely kingdom once again. They lived there in splendor, the only part of perfection missing, the daughter they had loved more than any other thing. They kept nightingales in their house, their music soothing and a memorial to the daughter they would not see again.

Elrond climbed the stairs, walking with Dior, followed by Turgon, Cirdan and Glorfindel. They reached the top, to a room of such splendor that he had no words to describe its beauty. There were colors there that had no counterpart in Middle-earth and flowers filled the air with perfume.

A tall man was standing before a white chair by himself, the room empty otherwise. They paused and Dior smiled, leading the way and bowing with the others as they paused before him. He was tall, perhaps the tallest Elf Elrond had ever seen and the beauty of his face was beyond compare. He wore simple yet very rich garments, a silver fillet surrounding his head. His hair was thick and black, braided in long plaits that reached his waist, silver and gold thread entwined within. He stood and looked at them, with eyes so filled with wisdom that Elrond could scarcely hold their gaze.

He turned and looked at Dior, the younger Elf smiling and then stepped down, pausing before Elrond. Thingol looked at him, then he touched his face, delicately tracing the line of his jaw. Then without a word, he reached out for his grandson and gathered him into his arms. He embraced Elrond, holding him tightly, this fragment written large of his beloved daughter, Luthien.

Dior glanced at Turgon, at the third kinsman of the Peredhel and smiled, swallowing around the lump in his throat. Turgon smiled back, glancing at Glorfindel, the elder Elf drawn with emotions of his own. He had come back to Middle-earth to serve their people and had given centuries of his life to this one single person. Elrond was as his son, his beloved and only child and to see his heart healed thus was overwhelming.

The sound of nightingales sang in the branches of the trees that formed part of Thingol's house. Standing on a balcony nearby, their fingers entwined, Galadriel and Melian looked on in joy.

=0=

They reached the river, pausing by its shining embankments, the distant lands beyond peaceful under a dull haze. The sky was being devoured, this he had noticed and he wondered how long before the sun was shut out. They were going to the road to search for the enemy and hopefully they would be able to handle what might be there.

Boromir looked over his shoulder, noting his brother's composure and the grim-faced determination of Aragorn. Halbarad was with him, other Rangers and Rohirrim and they paused as they scanned the land below. "I wish Legolas were here," he whispered, a Rohirrim nodding grimly. "He would tell us better what might be hidden below."

Eomer and Legolas, with Gimli and others were going in the opposite direction to scout along the Pale. They would check in with watchers, people who stayed until relieved, who were their first line of defense against the coming tide of evil.

Aragorn glanced at Faramir, both of them nodding in their peculiar shorthand and then all of them rose and began to descend. They would scour the ground, reading the tracks and by doing so determine the level of building threat. They moved through the brush, melting into the ground cover and soon there was nothing to show they had been there.

***************In the House of Thingol ...

They sat at a table with a crystal top and drank the most unusual wine Elrond had ever taken. It tasted of sunshine and flowers, rivers and the gentle breeze of summer against your cheek. It wasn't like anything he had ever imbibed and he sipped and savored it as small talk was made.

Thingol stared at him, his gaze unwavering and then he set his glass down on the table. "You have come a long way, my grandson, to seek the intercession of the Lords of the World. That is a big undertaking even for me."

"I come on a mission of the greatest urgency, begging for the greatest empathy that can be fostered, Grandfather." He paused and swallowed. "Not all your kinfolk have found their way here. Some of them cannot come no matter what we can do. They have not been given that right."

"Turgon and Dior have told me much about your twin, my grandson. He was a goodly man, my Elros. I am beggared into great poverty of spirit in that I have and never will know him myself."

Elrond swallowed again, looking at his grandfather. "I wish you could have. I wish you had known him and then you would understand why I cannot turn away. His bloodline continues, his people continue and I have an obligation to seek respite from the terror that has engulfed them. They cannot stand alone, my lord. I beg you without shame or falseness to help us in our quest."

"You have no faith that I will?" Thingol replied, watching his grandson closely.

"I do not have hope in many things, my lord. I beg in my prayers that I am wrong but there has been so many disappointments that I do not allow myself to believe. I beg you, grandfather, to hear me and decide for yourself what is the right thing to do."

Thingol sat a moment and then he rose, holding out his hand. "Come. Walk with me."

Elrond rose and took his grandfather's hand, walking toward a wandering veranda that was made to bend around the great trunks of the trees which they lived in. They walked together until they came to a flet that overlooked a forest and beyond that a small lake. It was breathtaking, the beauty of the view and Elrond stood staring, unaware that his grandfather was watching him."This is like Doriath?" Elrond whispered, almost afraid to speak and break the spell.

"Very much. My Queen remembered our beloved kingdom and we created it again as best we could." He turned and looked at Elrond. "You remind me of my daughter and her great heart."

"The Lady Luthien lives on in my own daughter it is said," Elrond said, smiling slightly.

"So I am told." Thingol sighed and stepped closer, turning and looking out at his domain. "I have loved Middle-earth with a passion that has repaid me in death and sorrow. My daughter, my family, my kingdom ... I have lost it all including my life. We get a gift, our people, of a second chance and then it is up to us to do the right thing." He looked at Elrond, considered his profile. "What would you give up, my beloved grandson, to make right what has transpired?"

He turned and looked at his grandfather, at the light of his visage and his eyes. "I have sacrificed all my life, Grandfather. I have given all that I have."

Thingol nodded, touching Elrond's cheek. "All?"

Elrond looked down, feeling intensely vulnerable, as if the figure before him could see into his soul.

"You have a passion that is forbidden among our people. What would you give up to save the world?"

Elrond looked up, his eyes filled with pain and he knew then that his grandfather was aware of the king. Elrond stepped back, hesitating for a moment and then turned, staring out at the lake once more. It seemed so far away, so out of reach of sadness and the affairs of the world that plagued them now. He thought of his brother, of his father and his mother and of the King to whom his heart would ever belong. He stood a long time, considering in wretchedness that there was something he hadn't sacrificed that he could still give up.

Turning, his face a mask of misery, he walked to his grandfather and took his hand. He brought it to his lips and kissed it gently, his tears falling upon it as he made up his mind.

"I have something I can sacrifice ... the passion that you spoke of and I would foreswear it forever to save the world from this doom if that is what it takes."

Thingol looked at him, at the child of his children and sighed before pulling Elrond into his arms. He held him, swaying gently as he felt pride and love fill him, pride and love for this child of his Luthien.

"You would give up the King to save strangers, abandoning the one thing that you desire overall?"

Elrond looked at him, his face streaked with tears. "If that is what is needed, then I will do it."

Thingol's expression gentled, his dark eyes filled with compassion. "You are much like my Luthien with your brave and sacrificing heart. I am glad that she lives in you, my son." He sighed, shaking his head. "I cannot take from you that small vestige of happiness. What you must do about it is not my place to say. It seems our doom to love in difficult circumstances. I have spent much reflection in the sanctuary of Mando's Halls and many years here on these peaceful shores. My wife, your grandmother, is a wise woman and I have learned to take her counsels. There is a need for us to do what is right for those beyond our shores. I am not going to stand in the way of that. I am on your side."

Elrond looked at his grandfather, at the beautiful and legendary figure of his childhood and hugged him again. Thingol held him, comforting him as he considered what it would take for them to mount an expedition of this size.

***************On the trail ...

They cleared the plains, heading along the forest line, their keen eyes spotting old tracks and very little else. Orcs had come through here, traveling light and fast but that was a while ago. Farther up, closer to the Gap, they might find more activity coming down from was nearly mid-afternoon when they spotted dark figures moving along the hillside. They appeared to be trying to avoid being seen, so feared were the hit-and-run tactics of the rebels now. Faramir notched an arrow, moving toward the flank of the figures who didn't seem to see them yet.

Boromir went with him as Aragorn took the short straight path through covering brush to head them off. Men split into two parties, moving with skill and stealth, repeating for the hundredth time this very maneuver. The smell of creosote was heavy as they crept up behind the orcs, measuring their speed against the other group of hunters. Faramir was in the lead, his bow sighted on an orc and when they were within range, it sang out. It struck an orc in the neck, cutting off his squeal but others were less lucky to die that fast.

Arrows from behind and arrows from in front met them and they died before they could gather a defense. For a moment it was silent and then they came from hiding, staring at the dead as they gathered around. Faramir glanced at an orc, slaughtered and bloody and as he did, the world around him slowed down. Boromir was to his right, standing and talking to Halbarad, while Aragorn was across from him kneeling over an orc. He turned and saw a figure, black and shrilly screaming and then he saw the bow and arrow in his hands. He turned and swung his bow, hitting Aragorn full on the face, knocking him backward to fall flat against the ground. Then he turned and shoved as hard as he could, pushing Boromir into Halbarad and out of the way.

He turned, bow in hand and reached for an arrow, feeling the dull thud of the orc's dart as it pierced his chest. Beside him, their voices stretched and eerie, others fired on the beast and he fell to the ground dead. He himself stood for a moment and then he fell to his knees, staring down at the middle of his body. A big black arrow stuck out of his chest, piercing his breastbone and exiting through his back.

Aragorn sat up, his eyes transfixed on Faramir, his cheek battered from the blow of his bow. Then he rose unconcerned about any further fighting and ran to Faramir, falling to his knees. Faramir looked up, staring at him with fading eyes as blood trickled from his mouth. He felt his heart seize, then he sensed the darkness coming as he slumped forward into Aragorn's arms.

He stared at the sky, a fading blue square, the terrified eyes of his lover filling his vision. "Sacrifice," he whispered as the cold crept over him and then his spirit slipped his body and floated away.

Aragorn sat holding him, panic so violent in his mind he could hardly breathe. He had seen men die before, people that he had loved but this was Faramir and he was destroyed. He couldn't talk, he couldn't move. He couldn't breathe or think or act.

Boromir fell to his knees, gripping Faramir's hand, devastation and shocked disbelief on his face. He looked at Faramir and things fell away inside of him, so he rose and pulled his sword from its sheath. He turned and walked to the orc that had killed his brother and with a maniacal rage hacked him to bits.

Aragorn sat holding his lover, rocking him gently as he struggled to consider what to do. Halbarad knelt down and touched his shoulder, shaking his head in sorrow. "We have to go, Aragorn. There could be more."

Mad eyes greeted him and Halbarad was taken aback. "We are not *leaving* him."The others stood quietly and then Halbarad nodded, moving to cut tree limbs to make a stretcher. They would lay Faramir gently upon it, covering him with blankets and then with a distraught Aragorn in the lead, they would head north for home.

**************That night ...

They had left an hour later, Elrond making plans to return the next day. Gil-galad rode beside him, noting Elrond's silence and even though Dior and Turgon had told him of the success, he was apprehensive about his lover's demeanor. The ride back seemed shorter somehow and when they reached their temporary home, it was with relief for all concerned. Elrond hugged his wife and greeted the others, walking with them to the hall to dine.

Gil-galad ignored the hard looks of Elrond's twins, sitting in his place of honor at the long rectangular table. Dinner was served and then questions were proffered, dozens asked and dozens answered. The dinner finally wound down and the party moved to the sitting room where all of their conferences were held thus far. Wine was poured and they all sat together, the specter of war their next ordeal.

"Who will go to the King, then?" Elladan asked, sitting next to his mother, holding her hand.

"We will go, that is, Celeborn, myself," Turgon replied, "Elrond, Dior and Thingol King."

"This is remarkable," Galadriel said with a smile. "I have not been this filled with relief in ages."

Elrond smiled slightly. "He is a remarkable man, Thingol."

"He loves family, especially those of his daughter," Turgon replied. He is a tough man, our Thingol."

"His word is enough for Ingwe. And perhaps out of this moment something that needs forgiving can be put to rest,"

Glorfindel said, glancing at Elrond. "I would hope so."

"And I," Dior said, shaking his head. "If I can make some accommodation to what transpired, then there are few to say otherwise."

"Have *you*, Grandfather?" Arwen asked.

He looked at her, at the image of his mother and smiled. "Mostly. It is like all hurts. You do what you can each day."

"I expected it to be harder," Elrohir replied. "I expected Thingol to make it harder."

"You have never been to Mandos," Dior replied. "You cannot come out until you find a way to live with your past. Thingol is a hardheaded figure but he is a man who spent a lot of time thinking over his life. That cannot be discounted."

Elrohir nodded and then smiled. "When will we get to see our grandmother? When can we see Elwing and Earendil?"

Dior glanced at Elrond and shrugged slightly, smiling for a moment before sipping his wine. "That is yet to be seen."

***************At the encampment ...

They came in late, the sun only hours away and when the word of Faramir's death reached them, they were waiting in silent groups, standing in the light of torches. They moved through the group, Boromir and Aragorn holding the ends of the stretcher as they had for most of the journey back. They carried Faramir inside and put him on the table, Aragorn staring at his body in a daze.

Someone had cut the arrow off, the fragment remaining slipping in out of sight. His face was ghostly, his eyes staring and Boromir gently closed them again with his hand. He leaned down and kissed Faramir's cheek and Aragorn felt himself breaking apart.

"He ... he needs to wash his hands," Boromir stammered, shock still shadowing his face. "I think he needs to wash his hands," he repeated as Frodo started and hurried to get water and cloths.

They stood in mute silence, struggling to comprehend the calamity that had overtaken them when Frodo reappeared with a basin and a cloth. Boromir looked at him uncomprehendingly and then he took it and set it on the table by his brother's body. For a moment, he just stared at it and then he took the cloth, dipping it in the water and turning to his brother. With the gentlest touch he would ever bestow in his life, Boromir of Gondor washed his brother's face for the last time.

Aragorn stared at them, at the enormity of his loss and turned, stumbling into the alcove they had shared. He sat on the bed, his head in his hands and wept like he had never wept before. Sam stood by the door, feeling rather than hearing the searing sadness of his friend and comrade. He closed his eyes, a tear trickling down his cheek as he remembered the kindness they had encountered in Ithilien.

He glanced at Frodo, standing to one side of the table and they looked at each other, their thoughts the same. If they hadn't failed, this would never have happened and Faramir would be alive this day. Sam looked away, unable to bear the sadness and sat by the door of the alcove. He could offer little solace to anyone around them but if Strider needed Sam, he would be there not matter what he needed or when.

***************Nearing Mirkwood ...

He walked in chains, his mind rent with terror, stumbling through the mud and dirt as they ran overland. Behind him, also chained, his accomplice scurried, more weary than he had ever felt before. They had been found by a party of foraging orcs and had been taken prisoner to Sauron when they realized who they were. He had hoped they would just kill them instead of taking him to the Demon and his mind twisted with the horrors he expected to face.

They hurried down the Old Forest Road, veering off on the road that would take them to Thranduil's seat of power. Farther to the southeast, it was already beginning as big spiders began to move into Lorien. They would have the southern wood but could come no farther as Sauron expected to keep this domain his hurried through the wet grass and stumbled over the rocks as the orcs dragged them closer and closer to their doom.

Grima Wormtongue was already rehearsing the arguments that he would give to Sauron in a bid to save his life. He would switch his allegiance or whatever it was he gave his master to the evil beast who had them now. Saruman was on his own, the old stupid bastard and Grima would be hung before he would die for the wizard's sins.

***************Late at night ...

He had sat on his bunk for hours, ignoring the pleas of his friends to eat and rest. Nothing could save him from his sorrow now. His friend, his companion, his lover ... the one that he had come to love and depend upon was gone in the blink of an eye. For a moment futility and precarious hopelessness overtook him and he cast around his alcove for a token of comfort. Nothing was there but Faramir's bow and small bag but he didn't have the heart to look inside.

He reached for his pack and pulled out the jewel, the one she had given him long ago. He stared at it, at the loss it encompassed and pressed it against his face in searing anguish. Then he rose and stumbled out, hurrying through the crowds of sleepers until he got outside. He moved to the middle of the small cleared yard and stared at the sky above.

"Why!" he called out. "How *can you* stand by? Is there not enough that are *dead* without -" He didn't continue, bringing his hands to his head and then he fell to his knees in despair. "How am I to go on? How can I go on? How much blood do you have to ignore before you hear our despair? How can you sail the sky and not hear our lamentations?"

Halbarad stood in the doorway, near to him stood Sam and they watched him until he staggered once more inside.

=0=

"Do not go near to him. Let him grieve."

Legolas pulled his arm free and moved past Eomer, pausing for a moment beside where Boromir sat. He looked up and nodded, gripping Faramir's hand in his own as he sat in a miasma of searing pain. Legolas shook his head, unable to articulate what he wanted to say and then moved onward, pausing outside the alcove that was Aragorn's. Halbarad looked at him, shaking his head.

"He has not come forth since this happened nearly two days ago. He has not eaten nor slept."

"Were he more of Elf kind he would be dead of sorrow."

Halbarad nodded and Legolas pulled the curtain back, entering to see him sitting on the bunk, hunched over his misery. Food on plates sat nearby but it wasn't touched. Legolas walked over and knelt, placing a hand gently on Aragorn's knee. Eyes looked up, eyes mad with sorrow and Legolas swallowed hard as he searched them.

"How may I help you now?" he asked in his gentle voice.

Aragorn looked at him and then shook his head. "You cannot."

"Then we must find a way for you to live."

"There is no living. The light of the world went out. It's going out everywhere. We are fools, Legolas, to think it could be otherwise. You should go to the Havens and flee. At least you will be alive to remember us."

"Do you think I would?" Legolas asked, moving to sit next to him.

'I cannot think. I cannot ... comprehend ... it is all too much," Aragorn replied, closing his eyes in weariness. "He had a dream."

"What kind? A vision?" Legolas asked gently.

"He said only part of it. He hid some of it from me. Maybe he foresaw this, I do not know."

"Then it was ordained."

Aragorn looked at him, fire in his eyes. "Then there *are* no gods and everything we do, everything we *believe* is a *lie*. All is *futile* and nothing we do makes any difference!" He rose and swiped the plates off his table, turning and fixing enraged eyes upon the elf. "What is there to *need* of gods if it is all planned ahead? Is this planned, this calamity that swallows us all up? What does this mean for our beliefs ... our hope? Are we all fools praying to the sky ghost, the one who we *invented* so we wouldn't be *alone*? What if you *are* right? What if it is all planned in advance and nothing we do can make it different? There *is* no hope, Legolas," he said, his voice breaking. "No hope."

Legolas rose and embraced Aragorn, holding him tightly in his arms. He felt devastation and loneliness and for a moment no hope as he held their leader weeping in his arms. Standing by the door, peering through the curtain, Eomer of Rohan watched them together. It was impossible for him to carry anymore sorrow and so he watched as detached as he could manage to be. Later, if there was one, he would fall to his knees and weep until the sky crashed to the ground. But for now he was determined to push away the darkness until that last moment of freedom when he died on his feet, Legolas by his side.

***************The next day ...

They dressed him in his best clothing, putting the few possessions that he had with him, minus a small book that Boromir kept for himself. They stood together as they carried him to a hillside and lay him into the cold damp earth. Wrapped in blankets they could ill afford, they buried Faramir of Gondor under an overcast sky. They piled rocks on him, a cairn to protect him from the winters that would surely follow their doom.

Aragorn stood silently as if etched in stone, his eyes shuttered and his pain hidden as they sang sad songs. Elf songs, man songs and a short halting poem from a hobbit with tears in his eyes all broke the unbearable solemnity for a moment. When they were done, they drifted away and left their chieftain alone on the hill. Aragorn would stand without moving for the entirety of the night and in the morning come down a changed man. Gone would be the uncertainty, the caution and the stealth. The man who would lead them had been transformed by death. He no longer feared it, this calamity of the world and he made a vow to take the fight to the enemy.

They would not just hit and run, they would destroy and rend, beginning with the tower of Orthanc in Isengard. The enemy would be denied the tower for a base, as Aragorn had deciphered that much from the palantir. They would find it inhospitable if he could manage it and their efforts in the south and the mountains walked to his alcove and closed the curtain, staring at the jewel he held in his hand. He felt nothing for it but the rage that iced his heart, so he put it back on to keep that focus intense.

He would remember Faramir's uncertainty when he had asked what it was for. Now he had a reason for continuing to wear it. It was his talisman, his token, his good luck charm and as long as he wore it he would remember to hate. He sat on the bunk and held his head in his hands as he tried not to think that he had laid the best part of himself into the cold dark ground.

**********In the courtyard of the House of Manwe ...

They had arrived separately, gathering in the courtyard of the great mansion on Taniquetil that was the home of the Lord and Lady of the World. Ingwe had arrived earlier, going into the great house to speak with his lord and friend, they stood talking together, a radiant figure came from the house. He walked down the steps, smiling broadly and extended his hand to smiled and bowed, turning to his companions.

"My Lord Fionwe, you know most of my companions, but a few," Turgon said. He turned and smiled. "This is my great-grandson, Elrond son of Earendil. You know Glorfindel and the others here gathered."

He gripped Elrond's forearm, smiling and nodding. "I am well acquainted with all but you, son of Earendil."

Elrond bowed and smiled, the whirlwind of conversations and meetings leading to this moment a blur behind him. They were at the house of the Lord of the World, Manwe, greeted by his son and his heart pounded in his ears. Behind him, standing with degrees of relaxation he felt he would never remember again, his family and colleagues stood quietly.

Erestor and Glorfindel, salt and pepper, stood side by side as ever for him. Celeborn and Galadriel, Thranduil and Oropher, Ellan and Haldir waited with enormous dignity. Behind them, talking quietly together, Gil-galad and Thingol exchanged thoughts. It was strange and unearthly being in such company in such a place but it was the last best hope of the world and her stared at his grandfather, Thingol, talking in earnest with Gil-galad and the conversations of the past few days came home again.

They had just gone from Thingol's house to dinner and from there to a private conversation in the library. They had sat quietly, Gil-galad waiting for Elrond to tell him what was on his mind. They were a jumble of thoughts and images and he had to sort through them in his own time.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^"

"I am overcome," Elrond finally said, the glass of wine in his hand forgotten.

Gil-galad nodded, gripping Elrond's hand.

"I am overcome."

Gil-galad smiled, shaking his head. "I understand. You are speechless."

Elrond nodded, looking at Gil-galad with a shaken expression. "We talked."

Gil-galad nodded, waiting.

Elrond sighed and closed his eyes a moment. "He talked to me about sacrifice. He asked me what I was prepared to give up to ensure that there would be relief for Middle-earth."

"And you told him what, melme?"

"You have not asked what he asked of me."

Gil-galad looked at him, his expression quizzical. "What did he ask you to forsake?"

Elrond looked at him, his expression filled with strain. "You."

Gil-galad looked at him, then sat back, sighing deeply. "Well, that was interesting. What if I may ask was your answer?"

Elrond drained his glass before answering. "I told him if that was the price to save the world, I would pay it."

Gil-galad nodded, looking at his lover. "You do not sell low, my brother."

Elrond glanced at him, a painful expression on his face. "He did not require the sacrifice. That I was prepared to make it was enough."

Gil-galad nodded, then drained his own glass. "I am interested, my brother ... how did he know about the two of us?"

"I believe," Elrond began, sighing, "that there are few anywhere who do not know that you and I had been together as more than King and Herald for a very long time. I also believe that there would be few places in my mind where I could hide a thought from him."

"Frightening, that one," Gil-galad replied. He leaned back, staring at the fireplace. "He is as formidable now as he was then."

"I am weary," Elrond said, gripping Gil-galad's hand tighter. "I am torn between two obligations, my lord. I do not know what to do."

"Do not do anything now," Gil-galad said. "We have many other worries to take care of." He squeezed Elrond's hand. "It may be that we have no future together. Maybe your sacrifice will be needed in another time. Let us put it aside for now."

Elrond nodded and brought Gil-galad's hand to his lips. "No matter what happens, I will never love another the way I love you."

"Then that is enough," Gil-galad said. "That will be enough for now."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^"

Elrond?"

He turned, embarrassed. "I am sorry, my lord," he said, giving his attention back to the moment at hand.

"You must focus, my friend," Glorfindel said, patting Elrond's shoulder.

"I am sorry," Elrond said. He smiled at Fionwe. "Forgive me, Lord. I am distracted over too much family. I, who have ever been alone, find myself awash in family who were only hither before names on a page. I am overcome."

Gil-galad looked at him, the word resonating between them. Fionwe smiled, glancing from one to the other. "Do not despair, my friend. Things will be all right. Take one step at a time."

Elrond smiled, nodding. "Wise advice."

"Then come into the house," Fionwe said, turning and beginning up the stairs. "Lord Ingwe is with my father and mother but you are most welcome. I am honored to escort you inside."

Elrond stared at the mansion, the heart center of the world and looked at Fionwe. He felt the others generous spirit and peace settled over him. With a nod, they walked up the steps together.

**************In the camp, three days later ...

They moved out, heading for Isengard, hoping to reduce the tower to rubble. Aragorn led them, the palantir in a bag carried on his back. They had horses this time and rode into the night, leaving before the sun came and it made hiding more difficult. They hoped to cover most of the distance in a day or two instead of the long and winding week of trekking through safer country.

He had paused by Faramir's grave, standing for a moment alone by the cairn. They waited silently until he came down from the hill, his face cold and emotionless. Eomer and Legolas were coming with them and they sat on their horses as overhead the great star continued on its journey.

They had hope that destroying Isengard would make putting forces into the south untenable and they knew that the ride would be long and hard. Aragorn climbed into the saddle and with a glance at his men, he turned and rode down the path that would take them to the back trails and the great road beyond.

Standing nearby, watching them riding, Frodo and Sam glanced up at the sky. It was filled with stars, one brighter than all the rest. It would be a relatively dark night and that would work in their favor. Sam sighed and grinned at Frodo, following him as he turned and walked into the cavern.

***************In the Halls of Manwe ...

Elrond stood silently, staring around the opulent and enormous anteroom to the great kings audience hall. Everyone was silent, expectant as one would be in such a moment and the air was filled with tension as they waited to be called inside.

Elrond wondered what they would be like, these lords of the beginning of the world. They knew Iluvatar, having seen his face and heard his voice and the mere idea of it made him feel small and insignificant. Fionwe had gone ahead, slipping through the doors, disappearing from view in the blink of an -galad stepped closer, squeezing Elrond's shoulder. He nearly jumped, turning and smiling, the King's presence worth more to him than he could articulate.

At that moment the door opened and Fionwe reappeared, walking toward them with a smile. "You may come," he said, turning and waiting as Thingol stepped forward as senior petitioner. Next came Turgon and Glorfindel, then Erestor, Gil-galad and Elrond. The others followed, all of them walking through the door into the hall where the King of the World received guests. They entered a huge room, one with the illusion of clouds and the heavens surrounding them on a gigantic ceiling that seemed more real than contrived. Two chairs, gilded and beautiful, stood alone in the back of the room, which was open, with pillars that broke the vista. Beyond it lie white capped mountains and the curve of the world, with eagles flying lazily in the blue sky. They were above the clouds and they lay like snow on the top of the sky that covered the world.

Two people waited, a woman and a man and at their side stood Lord Ingwe of the Vanyar. They crossed the glossy floor, the figures becoming more distinct, even though for the rest of their life they would not be able to describe them with accuracy. Each of them saw them, Lord Manwe and Lady Elbereth, but each of them saw them as they thought them to be. Elrond saw a beautiful older woman with a timeless expression of intense joy. Glorfindel saw a young girl, full of light and the vivaciousness of youth. They paused before them and bowed, a suffusion of peace falling over them, adding to their comfort in the presence of divinity.

Manwe reached out, raising his hand, blessing their presence before sitting down. Elbereth stood a moment and then sat, a smile of such radiant beauty on her face that Elrond found himself without words. He stood a moment and then noticed that people were waiting for him and so he came forward and bowed again.

"My Lord and Lady, I am ... I am honored to be in your presence," Elrond stammered. His cheeks felt hot from his embarrassment but when he looked at Elbereth, it faded away. He stared at her and something began, an exchange between them happening without words. It was as if all the days of his life were open and she read them like a book page by page. He wasn't alarmed, but rather soothed for he felt her love as one does a soft caress. It comforted him, for there was no other word that could describe what he felt at that moment.

"My Lord Elrond," she whispered, her smile gentle in his mind. "I am most happy to meet you in person at last."

Then the scenery changed and he was standing on a ledge looking out over the world with her by his side. He stared at the horizon, at the way it curved over and he felt a terrible urge to fly. A hand touched him, a soft and feminine hand and he turned, smiling with pleasure at the lady beside him.

"Elrond," she whispered, smiling back. "You have been a faithful servant of the Valar. We are most pleased with you, son of Earendil."

"I have never seen him, my father," he said, shaking his head.

"You will some day. Soon," she said. "What we must do now is turn back the darkness. In that endeavor, you have a part to play."

"We cannot do it alone, Lady," Elrond pleaded. "We cannot stand up to his power. We beg you for the sake of the world to come to our aid. It must be soon."

She nodded and touched his brow, his anguish falling away and when he opened his eyes, he was standing in the chamber once more. The others were staring at him, watching him intently, then all faded once more and he was back on the ledge. No one was with him and he glanced around quickly, his anxiety rising once more.

"What do you fear, son of Earendil?" a disembodied voice asked.

"I have a heavy duty, my Lord. Where are you that I might beg for your pity on the world below?"

"I see all things, my son," the voice said. "All things."

"Then you know that we are lost without you."

"I am aware of the darkness that threatens the Little Kingdom and I know that the time for reckoning has arrived. You were its messenger, Elrond of Imladris, the conduit through which freedom will return."

"What must I do?" Elrond asked. He turned and watched as an eagle flew past. It was beautiful and he watched it transfixed. "What must I do?"

"Go back to the Little Kingdom with the Army of the Powers and prepare to take back that which is lost."

Elrond stood a moment staring at the mountains and then they disappeared. He was back with the others and the room was empty, just the party and Fionwe, the Lord and Lady gone. He glanced around, unnerved and Gil-galad took his arm, steadying him.

"We are to go now," he said kindly. Turning to Fionwe, he nodded and bowed. "We are in your debt, my lord."

Fionwe nodded and smiled, watching as they walked back through the doorway. By the time they got to the courtyard, Elrond's head was paused and gathered around, Gil-galad smiling.

"What happened to you?" he asked.

"I ... I think we have what we came for," Elrond said, shaking his head.

"They talked to you alone," Ingwe replied, nodding respectfully. "We are going to war then?"

Elrond nodded, rubbing eyes. "We are going to war."

=0=


	5. Chapter 5

=0=

*****Isengard ...

They crept closer, the miasmic swamp that was Isengard before them. No one seemed to be around and they waited, intent to make sure that they would be safe when they crept to the door that stood slightly ajar. In the war, it had been destroyed of effectiveness by the rage of the Ents. Now it stood abandoned but they knew it would not be for long. Eventually the orcs would be able to return and make it a base for their western incursions.

Aragorn looked from one side of the drowned compound to the other, searching for any sign of life. There wasn't any and he felt a cold and grim satisfaction. They would have time to search for a way to make the fortress uninhabitable. The orcs might come but they would have no forward base if he had any hand in the day's work.

Nodding to Halbarad, they began to creep forward, crossing the still drowned courtyard on the backs of stones. They moved to the door, sword and bow at ready and when they entered the dark and cool confines it was obvious they were alone. Aragorn stood and looked up, the ceiling hundreds of feet up, a darkling place that gave a deep sense of foreboding to them as they stood below.

He glanced around and then turned to his party, signaling some to be guardians and support those still stationed outside. The others were divided into teams and together they set out to find a way to being the stone tower down.

Eomer and Legolas moved up the stairs, weapons in hand as they crept upwards. Into each room they peered, one standing guard while the other searched, ever going upward in total silence. Below them, moving equally silently, Aragorn and three men made for the cellars. Dreading deeply what might be lurking in such a terrible place, they descended the staircases, torches in peered into rooms, most of them empty until they came to one that had an acrid smell. Aragorn paused, remembering that odor from another time and place. Moving forward, he peered into the gloom, shadowed and wavering with the flicker of his torch. Barrels stood side-by-side, one of them loosely covered and he pried off the lid and reached inside.

Black granules, grains of a sooty greasy material he pulled into the light and he sniffed them, the picture of what they were like formulating in his mind. He smiled grimly and found a scoop lying on the floor, filling it with the material and turning to go. They followed him, his men, flying up the stairs and once in the foyer again, he called upwards.

"Legolas! Eomer! Come!"

With that, he turned and hurried outside. Legolas and Eomer, with two other archers, hurried down the stairs and out of the door. When they reached the steps they paused, watching as Aragorn knelt nearby, working with a black substance on a flat dry rock. He had placed the scoop on the rock, balancing it carefully, then he rose and turned, hurrying up the stairs and disappeared for a moment into the silent tower. They watched curiously, patiently waiting for the reason for Aragorn's behavior. He returned with a thin white cord in his hands and kneeling once more he put one end into the dusty black pile. The other he laid carefully on the ground, standing and looking at them.

"I remember something important. Gandalf used to make fireworks for celebrations. The powder he used was like this. If this is what I think it is, if I light this cord, it will burn to this substance and cause it to explode."

They all stepped back, looking at him and then the black dust, almost as if expecting it to explode right then and there. He took a torch and knelt, lighting the end of it and then turned, urging everyone to step away. They turned and moved back, watching with fearful fascination as the fire burned up the length of the cord. It faltered a moment and then reached the funnel, sputtering and then exploding with a frightening blast.

Rocks were shattered and peppered them, drawing sharp exclamations of surprise and pain. They turned and stared at the place where the scoop was, now a charred and blasted hole in the stairs. Rubbing a bruised arm, Aragorn stared down at the blast hole, smiling with grim satisfaction. He turned and looked at them and then up the tall tower, his decision made for him already.

"We can destroy this place. I know how. Right now, I need your strength and cooperation."

They turned with him, following him up the stairs and into the building once more. For the next two hours, they moved the barrels, taking them to different levels of the tower. They placed them near to windows, opening and casting off the lids. Eomer went from each, tearing curtains and sticking one end of them into the dark material. The other end, he dangled out the window and then carefully, he poured kerosene on the cloth. He soaked it to the edge of the black substance, very careful not to let it get too wet.

Then he moved to another level and did the same until there were five barrels of explosive dust ready to light. Sweating with effort, Aragorn gathered his people and they left the building, their explosives in place. Hopping from rock to rock as they put distance between themselves and the tower. Behind them, like tongues dangling grotesquely from black cavernous mouths, the curtains flagged the barrels.

Aragorn paused and turned to Halbarad, Legolas and three others. "Make a fire arrow and light those fuses."

They nodded and with a moment of effort, five flaming arrows were ready to go. They took careful aim, Aragorn standing tensely watching and with almost simultaneous release, they flew through the air. They pierced the cloth, flames bursting into sight. For a brief second they burned and then almost as one, explosions appeared.

The building convulsed, shuddering for a moment and then exploded into pieces, erupting into the air. They turned and ran, tugging the horses behind them as the air rained down death from the shattered tower. The tower poured flame and dust, pieces of itself falling everywhere and when it was over, they stood on a nearby hillock.

The tower was gone, just the barest of jagged rock indicating where it had stood. It jutted up, like a broken tooth and smoke issued from it as bits of masonry still fell. The blast had been deafening, the loudest they had ever heard and they stood in shock at the destruction they had turned and looked at Aragorn, stilling at the sight of the coldness on his face. That kind of satisfaction he had seldom seen. Aragorn turned and nodded to Legolas, turning and walking to his horse. They mounted up and turned to ride, secure in knowing that the opportunities to hurt them had been struck a hard blow.

**********In another place ...

"Father."

He turned and looked at her, his beautiful daughter and smiled, holding out his hand. She came to him and hugged him, the same sense of security filling her again.

"Father? I have to talk to you."

"Very well," he said, comforted by her presence.

They turned and walked to the settee and sat, Arwen gathering her thoughts in silence for a moment. Then she looked at him, taking his hand into hers. "I have a difficult question to ask you, one that I must, Father."

He nodded, frowning a moment. "Ask, daughter."

"Father ... I want to know about the King ..."

He bit his lip and nodded, disquiet filling him. "The King and I ... we were partners in the leadership of our people for a very, very long time."

"I am aware of that, Father. I am also aware that you were very close to him ... intimate."

He sat a moment and then rose, turning to face her. "That part of my life was before you and your mother. I am not prepared at this time to talk about it. That time ... that history ..." He paused, sighing deeply. "It was another time and place, Arwen."

"It was," she agreed. "What I want to know is if there is a portion of that past that has come into the present. Is there anything between you and the King that will trespass on our lives now?"

Elrond felt his heart squeeze and he turned from her anxious gaze. "Arwen ... I cannot discuss what even I do not understand."

"You still love him. And he loves you," she said, quietly.

Elrond shook his head, his expression filled with pain. "Arwen ..."

"Father," she said, rising and walking to him, placing her hand on his arm. "I will not burden you further, but we must talk about this later. Tell me that you will."

He sighed painfully and nodded, avoiding her eyes. Then she turned him and hugged him tightly. He hugged her back, remorse filling him. Then she smiled, her eyes brimming and kissed his cheek. "I love you, Father."

"And I, you, daughter," he whispered, watching as she turned and walked to the door. She paused and smiled and him and then left, the door closing silently. He stood for a moment, his heart filled with pain. Then he pushed it aside, turning to his table where plans for their invasion lay.

***************On the trail ...

They rode hard, leaving the smoking ruin of their great success behind them. They would reach shelter by nightfall and the cavern of their rebel friends the next morning. The victory they had achieved had been a great thing and morale would be lifted for a while. Aragorn rued that they had not taken more than a couple of bags of the material with them but even that much was better than nothing. They would have a chance to make and leave behind little surprises and as they got better at using it, wield great victories out of certain defeats.

They rode onward, moving across the flatlands as they headed for the mountains and the sanctuary and safety of the forests beyond.

***************Late that night ...

He stood before the door, hesitating for a moment and then he knocked, entering at the sound of a soft voice. Gil-galad was there, sitting in a chair by a table, papers and scrolls littered over the top. He paused, smiling and then rose, waiting as his lover crossed the room. They stood before each other and then embraced. It was silent for a moment and then Elrond sighed.

"Things are too complicated right now," he whispered, rubbing his cheek against Gil-galad's. "My daughter came today. She wanted to discuss you and I."

Gil-galad sighed and looked into Elrond's face, unable to measure the emotions behind the mask that was so firmly in place. "I am sorry to hear this. But I am selfish enough to still want you."

"It is not in doubt where my feelings stand but for now, I can only manage to do what I must. I am asking you, my dearest friend, that you give me some latitude to do this first thing because it is so important."

Gil-galad nodded, kissing Elrond on the lips. "I will grant you that, melme. But I will serve you notice that I am not prepared to surrender what I feel for you."

"I am not asking you to," Elrond replied, unable to meet Gil-galad's eyes. "But I am asking that we hesitate for the good of all. At some date when there is a chance to think about this, then we must do it. But now, I cannot bear the reproaches that surely will come if this erupts into something we cannot control."

"Fair enough," Gil-galad replied, considering the misery on Elrond's face. "Life is complicated, isn't it? I remember simpler days even though there was danger everywhere. I do not know what may happen when we finally traverse these shoals but we shall sometime in the future."

Elrond nodded and embraced Gil-galad, kissing him back with all the devotion of a lifetime of love. Then he sighed and looked at the table, at the plans that were being drawn to move an army unprecedented since the days of the Beginning. "May I help you?" he asked, glancing at his lord.

Gil-galad smiled, kissing him softly. "There is not a moment of any day in which you do not do that, my brother, in some way or another."

Elrond sighed and squeezed his King's hand and together they worked into the early hours of the night.

***************In the world ...

They circled lazily, watching the ground below as they flew over the earth. Below, unaware, creatures moved, heading ever westward toward the mountains beyond. Dark specks moving swiftly, encamping along the eastern side of the river, dark specks that were the enemy of freedom and peace. They circled and watched and then flew toward the ocean and the lord who loved them and depended upon their allegiance. They were the messengers of Manwe and he asked them to tell him of the movements and placement of Sauron's troops.

Sauron rued his Nazgul, dead and destroyed by Gandalf. He had no eyes and ears in the sky. He had only information he could divine from hisfoot soldiers, his collaborators and his own cosmic powers. He was divine but not infallible and as he sat in the Halls of Thranduil, he languidly considered his progress thus far. He was in no hurry, so completely confident in his victory was he, so the resistance that he was hearing about didn't bother him a bit.

He had other things to think about, turning and glancing to his left. Hanging by chains, stretched spread-eagled, Saruman gasped in pain. He glanced to his left and spied Grima, sitting on the floor, a collar around his neck. He was Sauron's pet, his own personal canine and when he walked about his domain, Grima came along at the end of a leash. It amused Sauron to humble them thusly.

Saruman was a longterm commitment in his mind, a slow and torturous death was on the agenda for that duplicitous bastard. He had sold out his master, trying to take the Ring for himself and for that there would be no mercy at all. He looked at the chain that lay at his feet, the end of which was attached to Grima's collar. He smiled to himself, amused that such weaklings could think they could overpower someone such as he. The Ring had sought him for three thousand years. It had needed him as much as he needed it and now they were together, inseparable and unbeatable, the masters of Middle-earth until the end of Time. He had plenty of time to defeat the remnants, rather relishing the idea of having that for a diversion over the course of relaxed in his chair, resting his eyes on Saruman's torment and considered the pleasure of his coming sojourn in Rivendell.

*********At the encampment of the resistance ...

They arrived late in the afternoon, the news of their triumph bringing a surge of happiness that had not been seen in their ranks before. Aragorn moved to the dining hall, pausing as Boromir gripped his arm, the big man's eyes filled with emotion. They stepped aside, Boromir taking his hand.

"You did well, I am told," Boromir said, gripping Aragorn's hand.

He relaxed a moment, his expression gentling. "We leveled Orthanc. They have no base in the south now."

Boromir nodded. "We have eliminated a spy network in the north along the river. Our watchers were right about orcs setting up hidden outposts. They are mostly, to our best knowledge, eliminated from here to thirty leagues north of us."

Aragorn nodded, sighing tiredly. "Good work," he said to someone he counted upon, the one who was slowly, tentatively filling Faramir's tactical role in his mind.

Boromir hesitated and then he held up a small book, one that Faramir had in his personal effects. "You should have this."

Aragorn looked at it, his eyes darkening with emotion. "That is yours. Your brother-"

"It has things that you might want to know. I ... I give it to you because of that. I have memories of my brother. You have less. Take it and if you ever want to give it back, I will take it. But for now, I think it would do you good to have and read it yourself."

Aragorn swallowed hard and reached out, taking the small leather-bound book into his hand. He nodded again, his eyes expressing what his lips could not and then he turned and walked into the alcove that was his home. He paused and then sat on the bunk, staring at the book in his hand, a small brown leather-bound journal of some quality. He unfastened the clasp and opened it, the neat hand of his lover filling the pages. Tears came to his eyes and he leaned back against the cavern wall, closing his eyes against the loneliness he felt.

He sniffled and then sat up, staring at the page and found his name written therein. He looked at it, the finally drawn handwriting and turned to the front to read. He sat all night, reading page after page, his dinner untouched as it sat on a box. He read and mourned, learning Faramir's heart and when he was finished, he was as lonely as he had ever felt.

He rose and put it in his pack, carefully concealing it and then walked through the silent cavern to the door. He walked through the yard beyond and up the hill to the solitary cairn where Faramir slept. The stars were bright overhead, the biggest star of all shining through the scattered clouds. Dew formed on the grass at his feet, the elevation ensuring that the temperatures at night were cool even in summer.

He stared at the rocks before him, a mounded heap of them and sighed, closing his eyes with pain. Faramir's words came back to him, halting thoughts about what it could mean to live in a world without hope. Then, grim determination to do the right thing, to be strong for his men, to help Aragorn against the burden that had fallen upon him overtook his despair. 'Help Aragorn.'It stuck in his mind, his heart filled with grief and as he stood in the darkness, he felt tears in his eyes.

He quashed them ruthlessly, unwilling to give in once more to the horror of what had happened in the split second of an unguarded moment. He had saved others and died in their place, Boromir included. He had once said that he feared his brother would die in his place and the opposite had happened. The desolation that Boromir bore on his back was evident to him. He felt it too. He had no hope that there would be a part of himself that would be private and emotional until that night when they had given in to each other. Now it was all gone and he was bereft. He would turn that suffering into action, he knew, but it gave no comfort.

'Behold the end of tribulations ... born on wings, the illuminating light of ancient days. Shadows fleet before the powers, ruthless end to the tyranny of one. All shadows shall be vanquished, sacrifices noted and repaid in kind. One alone shall triumph and the fallen shall rise again. Blessed be the peacemakers ...'

The words of some vision that Faramir had written down in his book came to him and he mulled them, unwilling to believe that they meant more than just that. He sighed, staring up at the heavens and felt more alone then than at any other time in his life. They were truly alone. The Valar knew, surely, what was happening. But they did not come. They were on their own now.

Turning, he walked down to the yard, passing sentries and softly whispering groups before entering the cave. He walked to his alcove and entered, reaching into the pack for Faramir's book. He stared at it and then put it in a pocket of his tunic, the feel of it against his heart comforting. Then with great effort, he lay alone on the bunk and closed his eyes, willing sleep to come.

***************Nearby ...

Legolas sat beside Eomer, working the shaft of an arrow. With skilled hands, he shaved with a sharp knife along the long nearly straight grain of the wood, making it more in keeping with his meticulous tastes. Eomer worked a whetstone on his blade, sharpening it to suit himself. It was quiet in the yard, the two leaning against a big rock, comfortable in the cool evening air.

"What will you fletch that with?" Eomer asked, admiring Legolas' skill with blade and wood.

"I have feathers in my kit. I put feathers I find in the pouch and use them against rainy days."

Eomer smiled, nodding. "Resourceful you are, Elf."

"I find it pays." Legolas smiled slightly. "What are you, human?"

Eomer glanced at him, shrugging slightly. "I am the last King of Rohan."

For a moment it was silent and then Legolas sighed. "I am sorry I asked you. Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive," Eomer replied stoically. "It is what it is."

"Perhaps," Legolas replied, sighing. He looked up and saw the evening star, the brightest star above them. It was far away, out of his reach and he knew that the Mariner didn't see them. How could he, he wondered, thinking for the thousandth time about his family. How could Earendil know? He glanced at Eomer, watching his sure hand work the blade and sighed. No one anywhere could know.

=0=

On the shores of Valinor, three days later ...

Ships sailed into the harbors and sheltered anchorages of the shoreline as they gathered to begin a transport that had not been seen in the living memories of at least half the inhabitants of Valinor. In domiciles and squares all over Aman, Elves gathered to listen to their chieftains. The situation was explained, the risks sorted and in great numbers they picked up their weapons.

Armor was secured from cabinets where it had lain unused for centuries. Helms, mail, swords and bows, all of it was gathered, cleaned and repaired. Men gathered their horses, tack and gear, all of the logistical and material needed for a war oversea.

They began to come in armies, marching behind their leaders, banners and symbols streaming in the cool breeze. They massed on the shores and when given the signal, began to board the ships that would take them away. Women, children and all others who were not going stood on the shoreline and watched. Ululations rang through the hillsides as the People of the Stars began to gather for war.

It wasn't festive. It wasn't frivolous or light-hearted. The seriousness of the crowds was evident. The Powers were coming to the Little Kingdom to remove once and for all the manifest evil that lingered from the Elder Days. They could feel the presence of greatness all around them and the sea thrummed with energy as the moment approached. It wasn't as rough as once it was but the steady chop of small waves was evidence enough of the interest of the gods who roamed the depths. They would be carried over the domain of Ulmo with care.

The breeze was brisk, the emanations of Manwe bearing themselves on the backs of the wind. His anger could be felt gathering and they drew from it what they needed as they began to make this thing happen for the first time in ages. Ships filled and sails were raised, moving them offshore to make space for others to come. They waited together, all of them gathering to land in Middle-earth at the very same time.

They stood together on the shore, all of the leaders of the Eldar clothed in their armor their weapons were in hand. As they did, Elrond felt a soft breeze, something familiar but very faint and then the mists parted and a beautiful ship appeared. It was graceful in a way that defied description and the sails were as white as the whitest snow. It signaled its presence before it was even seen by the bright light that shown from its prow. It came closer, gliding rather than sailing and when it finally reached the shore, they knew who it was.

Cirdan was smiling, admiring the lovely lines of the ship he had made so many years before. It was magical, this vessel, Vingilot they called it and it was obvious that it was one of a kind. The sails were pulled in as it glided to a stop, floating in the water off the shore where they stood.

Elrond stared at it transfixed, his eyes searching the deck until he found what he was looking for near the bow. A tall figure stood there, his hair in a black plait that hung to his waist. He wore simple clothing but made of very rich materials and of a style he could barely remember from the time of his childhood. A sword hung at his side, the necklace of Thingol was around his neck and in the brow of his crown a very bright jewel pulsing with light. Elrond closed his eyes, remembering the soft glow of the Silmaril in repose, when its light was not needed. He had touched it himself, a far away memory when his mother had shown them what it was like.

He opened his eyes, noting the presence of another, a tall and lovely woman with beautiful eyes. Elwing the White, the daughter of Turgon stood beside her husband on the deck of his ship. Elrond stepped forward, Turgon catching his arm and he paused, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

"Wait until they dock," he said, smiling at his grandson as the ship began to move without sails pulled up. It found the dock and pulled even with ease, stopping without effort from anyone on board. Elrond and the others turned and walked to the stairs, climbing down to the water level. Along the wooden structure they went until they came to the ship and the plank that was laid to allow them to board.

Elrond paused, looking at the couple who stood there, their faces wreathed in tears and smiles. They knew him, he sensed, before they ever met him as an adult. They had not forgotten him in the long, long years apart. He hesitated and then stepped onto the plank, crossing to the deck without a word. His father turned, smiling at him with pride and held out his hand gripping Elrond's. They stood a moment and then embraced each other as his mother stood nearby, tears on her cheeks.

The others waited until he had embraced his parents before boarding the ship that would take them to the Grey Havens and the war beyond. Elrond held his mother, images of Elros in his head and made a vow to tell them everything that he knew. The wind was soothing against his tear-stained cheeks, the sun middling warm against his skin. Soon they would sail out to save a world where the last surviving descendent of his brother fought alone.

***************In Mirkwood the Great ...

He hung by his wrists, willing himself to expire but the beast prevented it as if he could read his mind. He was beyond pain, beyond terror and it would not become less than it was right now. Sauron was stretching out his suffering, making sure that he lasted before he decided how he would kill the wizard.

Saruman could die a mortal death that much was certain but Sauron kept it from him like a dangling carrot. It was torment unmatched and he struggled to resist it but the power over him was just too great. He would last and last before the end came and from there, he was uncertain where he would go. No one would allow him to shelter in Mandos, the Valar would know of his terrible treachery. He would end in the Void, tossing into oblivion with Melkor, to spend eternity bereft of the warmth of God. Hell was an absence of the love of Iluvatar and as he hung in his misery, he felt the sorrow of his life fill him. But it wasn't for the right reasons. He was selfish to the end and as orcs laughed and poked at his plight, he wept silently for his own sorry hide.

***************On the shores of Valinor ...

They lined the beaches and the cliff sides for more than a league, witnessing the greatest armada to leave these shores in the remembered history of their people. Vanyar and Noldor stood side-by-side on the decks of ships with Teleri, kindreds all. The wind was favorable, Manwe sending them toward the east with fulsome gusts.

The great Armada was going to war and eagles flew onward to scout the land ahead. Ship after ship sailed behind Earendil as he sailed Vingilot with ease. Standing by his side, holding his mother's hand, Elrond watched as the mists formed around them. Ulmo was concealing them, preventing their discovery and there would be more than this in the days ahead, he knew.

Tulkas had been seen, it was said, riding his horse along the shore. He would be there, leading the army against the demons and smiting them dead with his sword and his hands. He closed his eyes, thinking of the days when the world was young and so was he. He wished Elros was with him to see this moment when the family they had never known had come to his aid.

The sky was obscured and the mist refreshed him as they sailed with the armada toward their native shores. In a few hours they would be there and the press eastward would begin. Once more the Eldar would stand against the darkness. Celeborn and Galadriel stood behind him, as did Turgon and Dior and Thingol King. The members of his family had joined his friends and they went to war with him and his twin sons.

Cirdan stood on deck, watching the sure hands of Earendil steer the great wheel of the ship he had made. The magic of the vessel he could feel beneath his feet, this ship that could fly across the sea and the sky. He felt the years fall away as they came ever closer to the fabled shores of his beloved home. Soon they would disembark and form into armies and ride out to meet the demon for the very last time. Glancing back, he considered Valinor. Soon it would be his home too. For now, he would do his best and make sure that liberation was successful and worry about the future when it was certain it would be there.

******In the mountains ...

He paused by a stream, bending down to drink. The cold water felt good on his parched throat. They were working along the forest, fighting back roving bands of orcs who were trying to find a way into the higher up ground. Legolas stood waiting, watching Aragorn as he drank. The man was tense and strained. He lived for the hunt now, for destroying his foes and he knew sorrow drove him onward.

Eomer was walking back when he paused, staring behind them. Then he drew his sword, catching their eye. Aragorn rose and pulled his sword as Legolas pulled an arrow from his quiver. They paused for a moment as a very bright light formed in the trees just behind them.

"What is it?" Eomer asked, moving to stand with them, gripping his sword with great tension.

"I ... do not move," Aragorn said, hesitating himself as a sense of peace he had not felt in over a year came to him. He hesitated again and then stepped forward, Eomer gripping his arm.

"Do not go there," the Rohirrim said, his face filled with distrust and fear.

Aragorn squeezed Eomer's hand and stepped forward, lowering his sword. He came to the edge of the trees and paused, the light growing until it hurt his eyes. Then it faded and a figure stepped forward, youthful and beautiful with kindly eyes. A smile graced his lips, warm and friendly and when he came to Aragorn, the figure touched his face with his hand.

Aragorn closed his eyes, the peace that transmitted through that simple gesture soothing and overwhelming. Tears came to his eyes and spilled down his face. The youthful figure smiled. "You despair, my brother. Do not give up hope. There are those that are coming who will stand with you. Have faith."

"Who are you?" Aragorn whispered, reaching his hand to the creature, touching his long hair with wonder.

"You have known me by many names. Now you see me as I truly am. Olorin, I am called."

Aragorn felt his heart squeeze and tears spilled once more. "Gandalf," he whispered. "Gandalf." His voice was broken with pain and astonishment and he felt his heart rend in two. "You have come back."

"Yes," Olorin replied with a smile. "I will not be leaving you until the ends are achieved."

Aragorn nodded, swiping at his eyes. "I missed you, Gandalf."

"And I, you," the youth replied. "Do not despair. I am with you even when you cannot see me. I will return."

With that, he faded and the light went out, leaving Aragorn alone once more. He stared at the emptiness and turned, agitated, looking around himself frantically. "Don't go!" he shouted, but to no avail. The figure didn't reappear again."

Aragorn," Legolas said, rising from his knees, his eyes filled with concern for his friend.

Aragorn stopped and gathered himself together, his iron control reasserting itself once more. He sighed painfully and nodded to the two, moving toward the stream once more. He splashed his face and turned to them, a grim look of satisfaction on his face. "He said others are coming. The Valar are coming."

"I cannot give myself that much hope," Eomer replied.

Legolas squeezed his arm, a slight look of amusement to his normally calm expression. "The Valar are coming. They are coming to destroy Sauron and it is up to us to make sure that they do." He glanced at Aragorn, nodding with a smile. "My people are coming back."

Aragorn looked at him and then nodded, glancing at the men who had gathered silently around the three of them. He turned and looked at them, measuring the moment and decided that truth was the best option.

"There was someone here that has given us a sign. The forces of Aman are gathering."

They shifted, surprised, smiles of hopefulness on the faces of some.

"They are coming to avenge our world. What we have to do now is hold the line. We have to hold on until they come." Aragorn turned and looked at his partners, nodding. "Let's go," he said with steely determination.

They moved out, melting into the mountains and when they were gone, it was still again. Out on the sea, moving with the wind, the greatest armada the world would ever see made its way to Middle Earth.

***************On the shores of the sea ...

They huddled for miles and miles, lining the shores of the sea. The misery of their situation relieved as best could be done by the Elves that still lived in the Havens. They gave what they had and helped with the sick but there was not much left to do. They boarded ships, filled with anguish and left for safety beyond sight of men. Behind them, watching with rage and despair, the Strangers were reluctantly abandoned to their fate.

The crush of refugees, even animals had slowed somewhat because the rebels in the mountains were able to stem the tide of enemy that had harried them thus far. They rested in all the lands between the mountains and the sea, yet ever they moved westward in a futile attempt to find sanctuary.

The night was dark beneath the clouds of the heavens and the days were wet and dank. But this night the clouds parted and the heavens were open to the people below once more. She stood by the fire, staring at the sky, bothered by something she could ill define. Turning to her father, who was sitting beside her mother, she frowned.

"Papa?"

He looked at her, his eyes filled with despair and followed her finger as it pointed to the sky. He frowned a moment, then rose to stand, considering the element that appeared to be gone.

"The star, Papa. Where is the star?"

He stared at the sky, vainly searching for the evening star that was always there. It was gone and he felt terror, so he gathered his daughter and huddled near his wife as the night wore onward. He didn't know what it meant but it couldn't be good. Nothing was ever going to be good again.

***************At the Havens ...

They woke to a drear day, the mists from the ocean rolling inward toward the land, forming dew on everything and pain in joints made weary by cold. Old people groaned and young ones muttered as another day of despair dawned. She stood and stared at the restless ocean her eyes roaming from the sea to the shore and as she turned, she paused for a moment, wondering what it was that she saw that was new.

A light flickered, a bright and piercing light and so she turned and stared as it came ever closer. She had never seen one so bright and it drew her toward it, making her hurry down the steps toward the guarded docks. An Elf turned and held out his hand, kindly halting her in her tracks. "Look!" she said, pointing out to sea. "A light."

The guard turned and looked, surprise crossing his ageless face and the two stood together, watching the light grow. Activity paused on the cliff side above them and on the wharf beyond and around them as well. Eyes turned to the sea, to the steadily growing light and when the mists finally parted it was breathtaking to see.

White ships emerged, swan ships glittering with gold, silver and purple, with banners flying in the crisp morning breeze. They were filled with armored soldiers, with colorfully cloaked officers and in the lead of them all sailed a beautiful white ship. On the deck, steering it forward, stood a tall dark-haired figure and on the brow of his crown shown a spectacular light.

She gripped the Elf's hand, looking with joy into his face. "It's Earendil, isn't it? It's the Silmaril, like in the stories," she asked.

He turned, his own face filled with joy and nodded, so overcome with emotion was he, himself. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, glancing up to the shoreline where people began to gather and cheer with abandon. "Go up and stay back. My people are coming," he said with pride, tears burning in his eyes.

He turned and ran forward, rousing deck hands as the horizon began to fill with white swan ships. They stretched across the horizon as far as could be seen and they came in more numbers than could be counted. They were led by Vingilot and as they entered the harbor, hands on shore scrambled to give them a berth.

They glided in, pulling up on the docks, ropes were tossed and orders briskly given. Orderly lines of soldiers disembarked while on the stable ships horses where brought from the holds. They moved toward the cliff side and the roads that would bring them topside and people moved aside, hysterical with joy. They reached their hands to touch the soldiers, crying their relief and their hopes as well.

The armies disembarked and would until the next day gathering together on the flatlands above. Horses in their livery, soldiers in their armor would regroup on the shores of the sea as other ships took their places, dispensing their loads. Moving then to anchorages off shore, still others came and disgorged their loads. Horses and Elves, archers and foot soldiers came in numbers to join the war. Then with the sound of horns calling the greatest hope of all could be heard in the distance. They were coming, the gods of the world, coming to lead them forward into the gathering fight.

and Orome and Fionwe as well would go before the armies as they marched toward the east. In the air all around them, they could feel the presence of Manwe while in the mists against their faces and the thrum of the rivers, Ulmo made himself known as well.

The people parted, making way for their saviors and offered their prayers and their thanks. Men joined them, gathering their weapons and with horses and on foot, they went with the tide. The Elves welcomed them, pulling them into their ranks and together they went forward to save the world.

Civilians walked beside them until they moved beyond the shelters, heading for battles beyond the shores. When they were lost to sight, people stood for a long time, unable to assimilate that they might not be enslaved. It was silent and still in the camps along the ocean for a long, long time.

***************In the front of the army ...

They had their plans laid and their captains determined, the army organized and their roles assigned. Elrond rode beside Gil-galad, bearing his standard and before him rode the Elder kings and captains of the guard. His father stayed behind, his own role defined and with his grandfathers' company, Elrond rode off to war. Thingol led them, Ingwe by his side, with Turgon and Dior following behind.

Others came, figures from the pages of books and he knew that his sons were nearby as well. Celeborn and Glorfindel, Erestor and Ellan, all of the Elves of the great houses were there. Chieftains of Kindreds, some returning for the first time since the Great Journey, rode side-by-side toward the gathering fight.

The sky had begun to clear as they moved steadily forward, the laughter of Tulkas distinctly heard. They had ridden ahead, going out to hunt the enemy, clearing the path to the den of the Beast. Tulkas claimed the honor of destroying Sauron as he had destroyed his master eons before.

Elrond sighed, glancing at Gil-galad, catching the ghost of a smile on that formidable man's face. He returned it, his heart lighter for it and together they continued into the growing dusk.

=0=

The rain fell steadily, a soothing soft sensation. He crouched under the cover of trees and watched the river. The Anduin swept by, dark and full, coursing toward the sea far away. Beyond there were orcs, camping in groups and they crouched tensely, as if waiting for a signal.

All along the tree line, archers were also waiting, prepared to make any crossing dear. Aragorn and Gimli squatted together, while farther down the line Eomer and Legolas sat watching as well. They were heartened now, knowing that they were not alone and so it would be their lot to hang on.

As they waited, he listened, a niggling thing bothering him, like one missing thing out of many. There was something out of joint here, something just a little askew and as he considered what it was, he heard a sound behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, his adrenaline surging and froze at the sight of a very tall man. He was standing by himself, watching over the river just like they were.

He was tall and very muscular and dressed in a style of clothing that was ancient and functional. He had long blond hair and a blond beard, eyes piercing like daggers and a smile on his face. He stood silently, glancing at Aragorn with bemusement and then he disappeared into thin air.

The static of the air soothed, becoming less electrical and he felt his nerves relaxing again. Turning, he glanced at Gimli, who was still staring at the orcs and smiled slightly, gratified.

Tulkas.

He had seen Tulkas, or so he thought. The god of the hunt was with them. As he sat on the ground, he considered the possibility that there might indeed be hope. The sound of bells came over the breeze, soft and gentle and totally out of place. Gimli turned and glanced at Aragorn, frowning. Then he turned and looked at the orc camps beyond the river. Some had risen, watching toward the north as the sound of bells became louder. All along the line, archers turned northward and stared into the gloom for the source of the sound.

Aragorn stood, peering through the trees as beyond the bend of the river a light could be seen. It was coming closer, the sound of dogs added and when it rounded the bend, it could be seen as a rider. Upon a white horse he came, a horse unlike that seen in Middle earth in many ages of Men and Elves. Big dogs ran beside the horse, massive jaws slavering and dark eyes seeking battle, they wore collars dark and studded around their big necks.

Aragorn sat up, rising onto his knees and peered through the limbs of the trees that shrouded their position. With the rider, a big and powerful man, came others, lesser beings but no less beautiful. He paused, staring out at the encampments of the enemy before calling to them in a language that Aragorn didn't know with any great detail.

Those with him raised their voices, calling out their challenges as well before raising horns to their lips. They rang out, bellowing sounds of great purity and Aragorn found himself on his feet, sword in hand. He moved from the trees called to battle by the horns of Orome and as he stumbled forward, his feet moving as if with a mind of their own, the horsemen drew swords and spurred their mounts forward, their shouts ringing out.

For a moment, the orcs just stood dumbfounded and then they turned and began to run, some dropping their weapons in terror and others pulling theirs to make futile stands as the riders went through them like a hot knife through butter. All along the line of defense, archers stepped forward weapons poised, called almost without thought to join the forces before them.

Legolas was moving, shooting fleeing orcs, the first to recover from the awe that had taken the rest. Then Aragorn was running, reaching the edge of the river and as he did, he began to engage those that had crossed. More joined him as the slaughter continued and before he could even think, it was over.

The stillness was almost painful as they stood among the dead, turning as one to the riders among them. They were beautiful, impossibly so and they exulted in their victory before turning their gaze to the Elves and men in their midst. Aragorn stood transfixed, watching Orome circle him, astride his horse. He met Orome's gaze, unable to look away and as he did, feelings and words filled his mind.

The tumult of ages became clear to him, faces of people he had never seen but instinctively knew showing themselves as almost memories of his own. He could see him, Elros, tall and beautiful, the picture of Elrond in the crown of his fathers. Others came, images all and then they faded away in the silence surrounding them.

"You must not despair," Orome said, smiling at Aragorn. "You are not alone."

Aragorn nodded nearly numb with fatigue and revelation. "Why show all of the memories, my Lord?"

"Because they are your legacy, heir of Isildur. It will not end with you," Orome said, turning and looking toward the east. "I have to go. There is much hunting to do before the world is free of the Shadow."

"Don't go," Aragorn said, stepping eyes regarded him and Orome smiled. "The hunt calls me." He looked at his companions and then back at Aragorn. With a smile, he turned his horse and began to ford the river. They stood watching as the group rode away, disappearing into the darkness of the eastern lands.

Eomer let out a breath he had been holding and turned to Legolas, caught by the expression on the Elf's face. He was filled with pride and awe, a strange mix of love and longing, as if something had been renewed and remade inside of him. He was watching the darkness where the gods had disappeared and then he turned to Eomer and smiled. Nodding, he glanced at Aragorn and turned to the forest, walking back through the orcs on his way to shelter. They all began to follow, Aragorn the last, until they disappeared into the shadow of the trees once more.

***************On the trail to the East ...

They made their first camp in the wilderness that led to the Valley of the Bruinen. Elrond stood by the door of his tent and considered how strange it all seemed and how long ago it was that he had left this land in retreat. Now they were back, armed and ready to fight, passing through tides of suffering humanity as they moved back to his longtime home.

Gil-galad watched him, pausing on his way back to the tent he would share with his herald. The sadness that suffused his lover was hard to watch. This land was not unknown to him. He had spent many days traveling across it on the way to the hospitality of the Last Homely House. It was Elrond's land, he had always thought in his mind, the place he had chosen to make his stand.

Somewhere ahead, an abomination had happened, the destruction of a place the like of which would never be seen in the world again. They were too late for the traditions and grace of that redoubtable domicile but they could exact their revenge in consolation.

Celeborn was for revenge, Gil-galad knew, a sentiment that he himself could hold to. Others were less direct about their motivations but they all felt it, this need to punish. Ingwe and Thingol were sitting together, along with Dior, Turgon and a number of others who would leave in the morning with Fionwe to go to the Gap of Rohan. Earendil was gone, sailing his vessel into the sky, flying away to help in his own had watched them go, his parents standing side-by-side and the wistful look on his face was painful to Gil-galad's eyes. He had spent his small stores of spare time with his herald, the mere presence of his person a comfort to him. Being here was painful, memories of places long gone tugging at the vision of the new reality. Doriath was gone, as was Gondolin and other places treasured and known as well.

More land was inhabited by men, lesser and greater and they were going toward the great White City of Elendil. It had fallen, a terrible thing to contemplate and now they must liberate it but before that could happen, they had to engage the enemy. Rivendell would be the first place they would do that he considered the first place of many they would seek out the Beast.

The passes were narrow and so they would have to be careful, marshalling their forces both north and south. A group would be moving toward the Gap of Rohan, making for Isengard and the garrisons expected there. He himself would be going to Rivendell, leading the forces that would secure that locale. He continued forward, greeting Elrond's wan smile with his own. "You look tired."

"I don't know what to think. I was a child last time something this big happened. I feel like a character in one of my books rather than a person in the midst of history."

Gil-galad smiled, sitting down beside his lover. He squeezed Elrond's hand. "History is just one day following another, occasionally punctured by interesting events."

"You have a way to make even exciting things mundane," Elrond said, smirking with a sigh. "I love that about you, your accessibility."

"That I am guessing is a very sophisticated way of saying that I am easy."

Elrond smiled, shaking his head, his dark eyes filled with passion. "There is nothing about you that is easy, my King."

"You speak to me formally," Gil-galad said, his hand gently massaging the tension of Elrond's neck. He watched his lover's eyes close, a sigh escaping his lips. "You and I are more than that."

"I have never forgotten, melme," Elrond sighed. "I cannot forget that. Ever."

"Nor I," Gil-galad said, his hand falling to his lap. He sat back, relaxing his big frame. "I wish for you tonight."

Elrond nodded, grinning for a moment. He looked at his lover, at the relaxed and familiar sight of his king in battle garb. "There seems as if little time has passed from the time we did this as brothers together."

"Some things are timeless. Like you and me."

"You are hopeless," Elrond said, chuckling. "I am glad for that, for I find that hopeless describes my heart for you. It describes my regard for you, my King."

Gil-galad's gaze was dark with emotion as he met Elrond's. He reached out, drawing his fingers down the side of Elrond's face, the Peredhel's dark eyes closing at the tenderness of his touch.

"You break my heart," Elrond whispered, sighing with emotion.

"I do not wish it, Elrond," he replied quietly. "But you know my own."

"I do," Elrond replied, staring at his lover. "And you know my dilemma."

"That is so," Gil-galad replied. "We are hopeless, you and I. I am not even sure that the wisdom of the Valar can make this right."

"Later," Elrond replied, sighing. "When there is time to think. Then we can see what ... what we can do."

"It is a callous and terrible thing, my beloved brother that such should befall two so devoted for so long, that we should be reduced to debating whose tears must fall to ensure another's happiness."

Elrond nodded and looked into the night sky, the evening star missing from its accustomed place. "My father is a miracle, or so I have been told. He wept when I told him of Elros. He has never known us I thought but he told me that he watched over us every night." Elrond swallowed around the lump in his throat. "I find that sadder than the idea that he never knew us at all."

Gil-galad squeezed Elrond's arm. "Your father loves you," he said quietly. "Your mother does too." He sighed. "You and I are fated to be different, to have different burdens. We are not like other people."

Elrond smiled slightly, glancing at his lover. "It is our curse?"

"Sometimes," Gil-galad replied, chuckling. "Our curse and our very great burden," he said, sitting up and leaning close to Elrond. "But in the midst of our deliberations, we are entitled to joy, Elrond."

"At what cost?" Elrond asked, watching as his king rose and turned to the door of their tent.

Dark eyes half shuttered met his own, eyes that smoldered with need. "That is to be determined later, my brother. We can only know about now." With that, he turned and entered his tent.

Elrond watched him go, sitting quietly, his own thoughts a jumble in his mind. Then he rose and stared at the sky, sighing with fatigue once more. For a moment he just stared and then he turned, entering the tent he would share and the open arms of his lover. As he did, another watched, his dark eyes filled with sadness and then he turned and walked onward as was his custom in the evening. Celeborn stared upward, at the newly strange sky and wondered where Earendil sailed this night. Around him the camp settled in sleep, gearing up for the entrance into Rivendell the next day.

=0=

"You can not sleep?"

Eomer stared into the concerned eyes of his lover and shrugged, moving slightly so that Legolas could sit beside him. They sat together, staring at the sky. "The night star is gone."

"I noticed. The Mariner is freed from the Heavens and joins the Powers in the war against our Enemy."

"That makes sense," Eomer said, nodding. Then he smiled slightly. "That is, if anything can make sense these days."

Legolas smiled and squeezed Eomer's arm. "Do not despair. Orome came to us today and Olorin. They are *with* us."

"Too many are not," Eomer said softly.

Legolas sighed, shaking his head, staring at the toe of his boot. "I am shaken by the notion of your gift, Eomer. It would seem that gift may not be the most accurate description of what your frailness entails."

Eomer smiled slightly. "There will come a day when the end of my life will intrude and you will be left alone. I do not envy you the passing of all that you love." Dark eyes fixed themselves on Legolas. "You are not given to display, Legolas, but I must hear it from your own lips. Do you love me?"

Legolas' expression gentled his eyes warm with emotion. "Aye. I do. I love you, Eomer son of Eomund. I do not know how it came to be but I do. You were there when I needed someone and in that, for me, came love."

Eomer nodded, overcome with relief. He stared at Legolas' hands, long fingers of amazing strength and agility. "I worried. I will admit it. I am a mortal and you are of Elven kind. You will some day watch the passing of my spirit from beyond your knowing. Only in the End of Time will we know where the other fled to when our mortal homes fall to dust."

Legolas nodded, taking Eomer's hand into his own. He pressed his lips against it, sighing softly. "You are a curse to me, Eomer, and a great blessing. I am doomed to suffer your loss even as I rejoice at your company. It is a two-edged sword, our friendship."

Eomer sighed, nodding. "I will not regret a moment. I will regret only leaving you."

"Then let us live now and not rue what might come some day. We are here and it is now. There might be no more than this. Let us not regret the future."

Eomer nodded. "I am given to moroseness tonight."

"You have lost much," Legolas replied."And you."

"My family will be restored to me someday if they have gone beyond the circle of this world. I do not know where you go, brother. Maybe it is in some way the same for you but only among Men to know. I do not myself. There is only guessing for my part."

Eomer nodded and looked at the sky, the absence of the night star keenly felt. "Tomorrow. That is something that I can almost consider now. Maybe there will be one."

Legolas smiled and rose, pulling Eomer to his feet. They stood together, their gazes level and then Legolas leaned forward, kissing Eomer with the softest brush of his lips. "Maybe," he said, smirking. "Forget it now."

Eomer smiled and nodded, turning and walking back into the light of the campfire with his lover. They would lie together that night and in the morning pick up their arms to fight once more.

***************On the road to Rivendell ...

They moved slowly, armed to the teeth. They were going to Rivendell to make a shelter for their master. They had learned to be very careful, since the enemy was like smoke, issuing practically straight from the ground and disappearing into the forest without a trace. They were merciless, leaving no one alive and so they moved with discretion and many armed guards.

No matter how much they told their lord, Sauron refused to be interested yet. He was preoccupied with other things. Exploring his domains and gloating were his main diversions and he knew he would wipe out the remaining opposition in his own time. Who but the pitiful remnants of Man and Elf could stand against him? It would amuse him and keep him occupied in the endless years of his domination to moved slowly, wains heavy-laden, rolling ever westward toward the narrow valley of Rivendell.

***************On the Plains of Pelennor ...

They rode slowly across, a band of warriors, their unnatural countenance casting an eerie glow. Before them, driven like cattle, the enemy ran, dropping their weapons as they fled. Beyond them, draped in scorched disarray, Minas Tirith gaped into the darkening sky. It was ruined and broken, banners of hatred flying from its ramparts, and it beggared the mind to see it thus.

He rode forward, another by his side, a shining and beautiful youth. The crowds ran, their foul refuse scattered before them as the party made their way through the ruined grounds. Word went on before them and the city began to empty as forces fled the coming of death. By the time they reached the great gate, the city was almost deserted, the enemy conceding their hard-won gains.

The few that remained or were unable to leave were dispatched without comment by dog and sword. Up every winding level, the party continued until they reached the great Citadel at the very top. The youth dismounted and entered the main chamber, walking toward a place that he instinctively knew.

Sword drawn, the light of his countenance the only illumination, he braved the stairs that led to the dungeon. Past cast off weapons, past cowering enemy remnants, he moved forward until he came to the place he intended. Pausing, sighing, he touched the metal locks, the manacles releasing themselves at his mere touch.

The doors opened and wretched creatures peered out, men who had been captured and held since the city fell. Among them, bowed and bedraggled, the Steward of Gondor limped toward the youth. Kind eyes greeted him and a hand steadied him as Olorin of the Maiar helped Denethor out.

=0=

They ringed the mountainsides, using trails and vantage points that only the Lord of the Valley would know. Elrond stood beside his king, their weapons drawn and watched the archers take their places. Beyond, on the road, the orcs came, prepared to encamp on the rain soaked remains of a once gracious outpost of civility in wild lands, the home of Elrond, Master of the Valley.

He swallowed hard, the memories of the terrible moment he set his home ablaze with his own hand streaming back to him. Quashing them all ruthlessly, watching as his sons took the lead in the slow descent to the blackened remains, he glanced at his king.

"Let us go, Elrond," Gil-galad whispered, looking through the trees. "I want to be there if there are any creatures desecrating your home."

Elrond nodded and the two crept forward, weapons in hand and lieutenants following. The ease with which they made their way was belied by the mud that clung to their boots but when they reached the blackened fire pits, they were surprised to find them empty of enemy.

Gil-galad smiled, turning to his lover. "We arrived first. I think we should arrange for them to be welcomed, do you not agree?"

Elrond glanced from the remains of his chambers to the king, nodding silently. "As you wish."

Gil-galad reached out and squeezed his arm. "They will pay for this outrage. I promise."

Elrond nodded and gathered his wits. "We must turn our eyes to the east, then. They will come that way."

Gil-galad nodded and turned, shouting orders to soldiers, who in turned scurried to obey them. Walking forward, staring at the waterfalls that coursed through the charred remains of his home, Elrond of Rivendell struggled not to weep.

***************At the cavern ...

They came back, two wounded rebels to be cared for by healers. They were surrounded when they came, questioned thoroughly and when they were finished morale was enormously enhanced. Frodo stood beside Sam, feeling better at that moment than any time since losing the Ring. He sighed and felt tears come to his eyes, such was his joy and he turned, leaning against Sam, who had placed his arm around Frodo's shoulders.

"There, there, Mr. Frodo," he said, smiling himself. "It will all work out in the end. You'll see. Just don't worry yourself about it anymore. Things are out of our hands."

Frodo nodded, not trusting his voice and turned, embracing Sam tightly. Sam, surprised, embraced him back, hugging him against his chest. "You're just tired, Mr. Frodo. That's all. You're just worn down by the burden of this whole thing. Pretty soon it will be over and we'll be back home in the Shire and all will be forgotten. You'll see."

Frodo smiled, comforted by Sam's touch and old feelings resurrected themselves before he repressed them once more. Sam was his friend and his brother. He was the only one besides his uncle that Frodo had allowed to truly reach him. His parents' death had left him emotionally bereft and it had taken a long time for him to reach out again. But Sam was special, warm and engaging. He was generous and loyal and found a respite in Sam that existed no place else in the world. There was no one else that came close.

He sighed deeply, warmed by the contact and again the sensation of need arose. He quashed it, ashamed of his feelings for he knew that Sam was his friend and nothing more. They stood together, hugging each other and when the soldiers rose to eat, they broke their embrace.

Sam smiled and shook his head, turning cheerfully to begin dinner. Frodo watched him, unsettled and needy and then slowly walked to the fire to help him with his chores.

***************That night ...

They had returned, telling of their adventures. Watchers had been reinforced before they had left. They had reached the cavern that night before sundown and the morale was enormously high among the men. Aragorn had eaten with his comrades and taken news, then retired to his alcove to sit and reflect. He sat on the cot that no longer felt welcoming and thought about the one who he most needed to talk to.

Closing his eyes, Faramir came to him, laughing and talking, giving him comfort. He could see his face filled with passion and doubt and sorrow. He could hear him whispering during their most intimate moments. He could feel the sensations of Faramir's body, the muscular and lanky form of his lover against his own. He ached to hold him, to touch him, to talk to him but it was futile, he knew, even as he wished for it with a painful intensity.

He sighed and opened his eyes, startled to see another, a very beautiful youth sitting on a box across from him. He sat up and stared, comforted by the vision. "Gandalf."

The youth smiled. "That was my name. One of many, I dare say."

"You came," Aragorn said, his eyes burning with tears. "You came back to us."

"I did," he replied with a chuckle. "I am here to comfort you, to give you hope."

Aragorn swallowed around the lump in his throat, shaking his head sadly. "What comfort is there for me now? What hope is there?"

"You will be set free. A great host from the Land of the Valar has begun to cast the Shadow back."

"I am glad for that." He sighed, resting his elbows on his knees. "I had no hope without you and your kind."

"It took the intercession of the Elves to make it so," Olorin admitted with a smile. "Lord Elrond is very persuasive."

Aragorn glanced at him and nodded. "He is."

"And what of you, my son?" Olorin asked quietly. "You are bereft."

"I ... I lost someone close to me. We don't have the benefit of immortality. What is lost is lost forever for my kind."

Olorin nodded. "Little is the gift of Man appreciated by those who must bear the grief of death. Your loss is very hard, I know."

"My loss is small compared to others. Boromir has no father and brother. Eomer mourns his sister, his uncle and the Kingdom of his ancestors. What have I lost? What is there for me to mourn?"

"A lover, most beloved," Olorin replied, sighing softly. "You are so fragile, you of the Second Born. I love you most dearly. Long have I walked the earth many generations of Men, yet still I sorrow for you and your sad contemplations. Hope is all you must cling to, my son. It is there, waiting for you to come to it. It will lighten your heart."

"What is there to hope for? You are here and the world will not die. That is good, I will concede. But what do I do now?" Aragorn asked, rubbing his arm. "I am weary."

"You will become King of the Reunited Kingdom. The great lords of this world will call you their king. All will prosper because of your wisdom."

"And I will be alone," Aragorn replied, bitter tears in his voice.

"It does not have to be so."

Aragorn looked at him and leaned back against the wall, too weary to debate.

"There are those among the Powers that feel the sundering of Elves and Men something less desirable now than it was when first considered. There are those who would have it otherwise. All that is needed is a token to make the case for rapprochement."

"What sort of token?" Aragorn asked, sighing.

"You were in love once with a beautiful Elf maiden. She believes that it is still so."

"She is over the sea."

"That is not insurmountable," Olorin replied gently. "All it would take is the gesture by you to her to make the world as it once was in the days of your fathers. The world of the Eldar and the Numenoreans would be once more reality on the plains of your fathers."

Aragorn sat quietly, staring at the beauty of the figure he felt as a father to himself. He sat up, resting his elbows on his knees. "I must make a sacrifice."

"It is the way of Kings. Sacrifice is what you do for your people and the Peace of Arda, Elessar of Gondor. The world will change and you can make it a peaceful transition. All you have to do is make a sacrifice for the people that turn to you for shelter."

Aragorn sighed, staring at the dirt floor, memories of another in his mind. "If I wed Arwen ... then the call for the Elves would no longer be their first duty, because our peoples would be joined."

Olorin nodded. "There are some who say that the world would be a sadder place without their wisdom."

"It is in my hands."

Olorin nodded. "Sometimes it only takes a single decision by a single person to change the world."

Aragorn sat back, his face filled with anguish. "It is a bitter thing that you ask."

Olorin sighed, a sad expression forming on his ever youthful face. "You make it sound like a prison sentence rather than an opportunity to remember a love that you once held deeply."

"That was then, this is now," Aragorn said, tugging the necklace from his tunic. He stared at it, jerking the chain until it broke and he could hold it free of encumbrance. "I have other feelings. Things have changed. I wear this to remember to hate, not love."

"Then you must learn to love again," Olorin said kindly.

"No," Aragorn said, shaking his head sadly. "I cannot allow that kind of pain again."

It was silent a moment, Olorin rising. "I will ask for peace for you tonight."

Aragorn looked up at him, tears in his eyes. "I missed you."

Olorin smiled, reaching down and touching Aragorn's cheek, wiping away a tear that slipped from his eyes. "I missed you as well. I will never be far, Elessar."

With that, he faded away and Aragorn was alone. He sat for a long time holding the jewel and then he turned and stuffed it into his pack. Reaching up, he pulled the small diary from his pocket and opened to treasured passages that usage had worn. For a while, he comforted himself with Faramir's words and then he stretched out, closing his eyes.

Beyond the sight of his vision, a beautiful lady appeared, Nienna herself and she knelt beside him, searching his face. She touched his cheek, her soothing attentions relaxing Aragorn as he slept. She absorbed his sorrow, his loneliness and misery and when she rose, resolved to help his soul. She stood and stared a moment and then vanished, leaving behind small comfort for the future king of the re-emerging world.

***************Near to Isengard ...

They passed the remains of Orthanc, marveling as they did for the complete destruction of the invincible tower. Ingwe and Fionwe led them, their forces bound for Rohan and the White City of Gondor in the south. Gil-galad and his people would come from the north, liberating Imladris, the Woodland Realm and the Lorien Wood. They would meet on the fields of Rohan driving the enemy before them and when they reached Minas Tirith, they would turn to Mordor.

They were moving fast, passing rivers and mountains, moving with speed to their ultimate objective. They had more maneuvering room and the enemy was fleeing, bedazzled by the glittering army that appeared out of nowhere. They panicked and fled, very few of them fighting and by the time they reached the flat lands of the Horse Lords, the orcs were in a rout.

***************In a cavern ...

They stood out that morning, going into the mountains, heading northward to find the enemy. By the time they reached the pass that went west towards Imladris, they were picking up signs of enemy everywhere. They gathered on the edge of the tree line, scanning the road as it wound through the mountains. Orcs were clearly passing through the narrow straits.

Aragorn and Eomer, with Legolas following, slipped up the trail with several Rangers of Ithilien. They moved with stealth, following the deep ruts cut by heavy-laden wains. After several miles they paused, hearing ahead of them cries of chaos. Melting back into the rocks, they waited for a half hour before the sound of running feet greeted them.

Down the road, orcs were fleeing some unknown pursuer and they watched as the numbers grew. Some were wounded and some were maddened by fear, running without weapons in their hands. Aragorn stood and began to fire down into them, his men joining as the orcs went by. They fell and died, blocking the road, orcs stumbling and screaming falling themselves.

Behind them, chasing them without remorse, forces of the Eldar army pursued, meeting after an hour in the middle of the pass. They paused and withdrew, each side falling silent. Then Legolas called out, his voice echoing in the silence until another called back, hesitantly stepping into view, bow and arrow at the rose and climbed down through the rocks, stepping over orcs to reach the Elf. The others joined them and they gladly greeted each other, the Captain, Galdor of Gondolin briefing them of their progress. Aragorn nodded and then followed Galdor along with his men as they hurried back through the pass to the main force beyond.

When they descended through the gap, the forests of Rivendell lay ahead and with practiced steps, he hurried toward home.

***************Minas Tirith ...

He slept on his own bed, the room cleared of the chaos of orc occupation. He had been starved, beaten and wearied beyond the recall of any other similar moment. But Denethor was alive and slowly coming to his senses. No one seemed to be around but he could feel the presence of others, those who did not answer directly, but touched him merely with their loving could hear others freed from captivity and the vile future of torture for the pleasure of the Beast. Many was the familiar face and voice that he heard as he slipped in and out of stupor lying on his bed. They were recovering the house and parts of the town, people returning to their business as they awaited the army beyond.

Most of the people who weren't killed or captured had fled to the west and the south. They would have to be rounded up and brought back, fed and taken care of. Their wounds would have to be tended and healed. There was so much to do he could hardly grasp it. But he couldn't help, so weary was he from captivity that all he could do was lie in restless sleep.

Beyond the window of his rooms, the river flowed onward, heading to sea. The Kingdom of Dol Amroth had held out to the last and was less broken in damages than Minas Tirith. Boats would float up the river once more, sailing toward the gracious and lovely capital city. People would live in homes and hamlets, tilling their fields and raising their children. This would happen, or so soft voices whispered to him. All that he had to do now was rest and get better. He didn't know how to do that, so greatly was he troubled by visions of the death of his sons. He slept as best he could as around him in tiny incremental steps the rebuilding of Gondor had only just begun.

***************Mirkwood ...

The first messengers groveled before him, giving their craven stories to the dark lord, their eyes unable to meet his. He listened in silence, considering their words carefully and then the magnitude of his situation hit him hard. They were coming for him, the Lords of the West and he was faced with the probability of standing alone.

Melkor couldn't do it, having given much of his essence to Arda during the formation of the world, but he was stronger, having kept himself intact and so he had given in to his arrogance, considering himself invincible. He had not consolidated his power or smote his enemies into dust, nor had he done what he should have when scanning his new had come without his notice and now he was trapped, facing them all alone. He rose and stared around, considering how close they were and decided that he needed more information. Turning, staring at his slaves, he signaled for Wormtongue to be brought before him. The traitor kneelt in abject submission and listened hard to what Sauron told him.

The shackles were released and he was sent on his way, scurrying toward Rivendell and the coming menace. When Wormtongue had left, he looked around his domicile, feeling discretion was the better part of valor. For a moment he was himself and then he wasn't, transforming before his terrified minions into one of his favorite forms. He spread his wings and took to the air, a vampiric force of evil fleeing toward Mordor.

They watched him go, disappearing into the night and then turned to each other for a moment. They knew then that there was nothing more to do than to flee as well. Gathering what they could carry, they hurried away, moving themselves with haste toward the east.

=0=

The camp was huge, an army of Eldar filling out the hillsides but he could see men among them as well as they hurried along. The burned out shell of his childhood home haunted Aragorn as he followed Galdor to the leadership of the forces all around him. Water still thundered over the cliff sides of the Bruinen, green trees still sheltered the grounds of the house, but the stately and graceful beauty that was once a haven was gone, charred beams and ashes all that remained.

He had heard that Elrond had lit the fires with his own hand, the same as Celeborn in Lothlorien. That one was even more painful, the most revered spot of all to him, that city of the Elves his most personally treasured locale. By the time they reached the pavilion that housed the lords of the Eldar, he had straightened his tunic and his clothes as best he could. He paused, Galdor turning, peering into the shelter and after a moment he was allowed inside.

Legolas followed, as did Eomer, Boromir and Gimli, the rest waiting in tense but happy silence as they watched the bustle around them. Inside the tent, Elrond turned and smiled, embracing Aragorn as a long lost son. Celeborn embraced him as well, and Legolas, the two stepping aside to talk together.

Aragorn was introduced, turning to catch Legolas' cry out his joy as Celeborn told him that his family was safe. Oropher and Thranduil, true to their natures, had taken the southern route with Fionwe and Ingwe on the way to Gondor. Aragorn felt something lift from his heart at the smiles of Legolas and the pleased expression on Eomer's face.

"My lord, I never believed that I would see you again," Aragorn replied as Elladan and Elrohir entered the pavilion, smiles on their faces at the sight of him standing there.

"We are here, Aragorn, to assist in the business of ending the Shadow's grip on Middle-earth," Elrond said. "My Lord and King, Gil-galad is in charge of the army. I am once more his herald."

Aragorn bowed and took Gil-galad's hand. "I am honored, my Lord."

"You are related," Gil-galad replied. "The Peredhel is my kin and therefore you are his. That makes us related in some twisted and convoluted way only Elves can conceive of. I cannot rest in peaceful bliss in the lands of my fathers while kin of mine own family is in harms way."

Aragorn smiled, the big man's open and robust style warming and enveloping him in a confidence he had forgotten he possessed. "I am in your debt and honored to renew ties of kinship with you and yours."

"Good," Gil-galad replied with a grin. "This is like talking to Elendil, Elrond. Do you not agree?"

Elrond smiled, shaking his head. "I am but a lowly herald, my lord. I live to serve your every command."

"Indeed," Gil-galad replied, smiling. "There are more kin to meet but that will come later. Right now, tell us all that you know in your remarkable fight against the enemy thus far."

Aragorn nodded and for an hour they poured over maps and discussed strategy and by the time they were finished, runners were heading south to bring the forces of the rebel resistance up to the pass where they could march eastward together.

They talked and talked, then broke for food, sitting together in the gathering dusk. By then horsemen arrived, more relatives to introduce and Aragorn of Gondor had the strange and privileged opportunity to meet some of the earliest ancestors of his family line. Thingol of Doriath and Turgon and Dior of Gondolin were only three that he met that night. They came to the pavilion and shared wine together, planning to take the fight to the east the next day.

Celeborn smiled and drew Aragorn to one side, asking him to take a walk with him. It was his custom everyone knew to walk in the evening and so they stepped away to wander alone.

"You seem grieved of some heavy burden," Celeborn asked, glancing at Aragorn, whom he had always loved.

"This whole business ... it is very unreal to me. Meeting all of my family, even those so remote ... it makes me feel light-headed."

"It makes us *all* light-headed," Celeborn chuckled. "What say you of the notion being spun that sundering our kindreds is not a good thing after all?"

"I would see the world poorer for the passing of your people."

"And I would be hard pressed to leave," Celeborn said. "My wife has found her friends once more, most notably your ancestor, Melian. They give her great comfort as does our daughter."

"The Lady Celebrian? Is she well?" Aragorn asked.

"Very much so," Celeborn replied. "I am overcome with pleasure to see her again. She is mine only child and a father has great hopes and dreams for them, especially when the world is so murky and deep."

Aragorn nodded, sighing. "She is a goodly woman."

"She is," Celeborn replied. He looked at Aragorn sideways a moment. "So is Arwen."

Aragorn nodded. "She is that."

"I am aware of your affections for my granddaughter. I know that you were hoping to wed some day. I am not apposed to such an union transpiring should it become reality for our two kindreds to co-exist."

Aragorn nodded but he didn't comment, following silently along the path with his friend.

Celeborn sighed."You are curiously silent on this matter," he replied.

"I am weary, my lord, and not especially good company. There have been many losses and they weigh heavily upon me."

"So I would guess," Celeborn said, pausing beside the cliff side to stare into the abyss below in which the river flowed swiftly. "This whole business, it was inevitable. I was told rather bluntly that we were all living on borrowed time and I knew that. But like anyone else who loves their home, I preferred not to consider that."

"None of us want things to end, the people and places that we love," Aragorn agreed, Faramir coming unbidden to his mind.

"There is someone in your heart that you mourn. I would wish that it was my granddaughter but I am sure it is not," Celeborn began hesitantly.

Aragorn stared into the darkness, willing the river to take him away. "I am sorry. It has been long and hard and things change."

"It is the curse of my daughters, that they should love men who cannot love them back the way they desire."

"My lord?" Aragorn asked, surprised.

"My daughter is in love with a man who loves her but not as much as he loves another."

Aragorn glanced at Celeborn, at the sadness on his face and felt badly.

He stood listening, knowing instinctively that it was all he had to offer.

"Celebrian is my jewel, the one creature above all for whom I would surrender my life willingly and without regret. I love her to the distraction of my better sense. I married her to the only man who could keep her safe and treat her with the respect and affection I wanted for her. I did so knowing that her future husband was in the deepest mourning possible for the only true love of his life."

"The King," Aragorn murmured.

Celeborn nodded. "The King," he said sadly. "I never held it against him. He is a good son, Elrond. He loved the king and the king loved him but he was over there and we were here and I am a father with a daughter that I love. It seemed a way to save two lives."

"At the time, it probably did," Aragorn offered.

"It would seem like wisdom. Then." Celeborn sighed. "Now I am faced with the resurrection of the King and the possible heart break of my daughter. I am also mournful of the plight confronting Elrond."

"He made a sacrifice and was rewarded with a good wife and children he loves," Aragorn mused, sighing softly. "A good exchange for a life of loneliness I would think."

"Is it?" Celeborn asked, glancing at Aragorn. "What about you, Elessar? I am not immune to the speculations of my peers."

Aragorn stood silently before turning grave eyes to his foster grandfather. "I would die before I would harm you or your family, such is my love for you. Your home, the city in the trees, it was and will ever be the home I hold dearest in my heart."

"You are being asked to sacrifice for something bigger than any one person. That it involves my granddaughter is a sorrow that will be mine, own private hell. What concerns me now is your answer. And ... what the life my granddaughter will live should you do what you must in light of your station."

Aragorn sighed and stared at the figure beside him, the heroic almost mythical person who had been part of his life since his earliest memories. It was in that cocoon that he had lived his life, sheltered in the strength, wisdom and joy of such people. Now he was faced with a decision that reached out to more than just himself and Arwen. Now, in this darkling time, he had to consider another hard choice, one that could haunt them all.

He sighed deeply."I will do what is asked of me, for the good of us all." He turned and faced Celeborn, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "I cannot tell you that I will be all that you want me to be but I will be all that I can. I swear it."

Celeborn nodded, smiling slightly. "You have the same sensibilities as Elrond, my son. He swore that to me and ever he has kept his promise. I will not talk to you about this again."

Aragorn nodded and the two turned, walking together along the cliff side. The water flowed ever onward and the sea beckoned, the blinding barrier between heaven and the earth.

***************In Barad-dur ...

He walked through the halls, minions scattering as they made way for their lord and master. His return was a surprise and they shuddered away, shrinking from the horrible dread and terror that he dispensed like spoor. He moved onward until he reached his palantir and then uncovering it from its shroud, he began to look into the of armies, vast and golden, greeted him and he felt fear. It gripped his heart and his mind began to formulate plans to save himself from the gathering might ever surging toward them. Even as he stood thinking, he could feel them surrounding him, the unearthly powers from before the birth of the world.

He scanned the heavens, searching for enemies and found a ship sailing free of its normal path. Earendil was searching for him, Manwe by his side and he felt his heart clutching at the sight of the two together. They could find him easily, his options being few and so he turned his eyes westward to the valleys and forests. Grima he saw, making his way to the Gap of Rohan, making his way to the lords opposing him. He would be taken, it was his great hope, taken and then ingratiate himself as a refugee who could help.

It would not give him much but it might accidentally give him something. He would have eyes and ears in the heart of the enemy and the palantir that surely they had would be reached. Grima was as slimy and difficult as they came.

He turned and paced, considering the dispatches that he had afore times disregarded. He would gather his armies and dispatch them to places to wait for his command. Then he would do what he always did when things got tough. He would try and talk his way out of the box he was in.

Turning back to his palantir, he tried to gauge the enemy arrayed before him, struggling as he did to pierce the shroud of obscurity that they had placed over themselves to hide from his ever-roving and all-seeing eyes.

***************The next day ...

They mounted up and made their way forward, a three-pronged force heading toward Mirkwood. Part of them led by Dior would attack the mountain fastness of the Woodland Realm. The second prong led by Thingol would attack the spiders in Lorien. They had moved up from the south, from Dol Guldor and environs, finding fresh land to promulgatethemselves.

Gil-galad and Elrond with Turgon by their side would continue southward, moving toward Edoras and then southward toward Osgiliath and Minas Tirith. Not at this time would they make for Mordor and the Black Tower of the Beast until they all met up again. Aragorn and his Rangers, his archers and his swordsmen, his cavalry and his Rohirrim would travel with Elrond. They would be his eyes and ears, ranging ahead of the army, dispatching to the main body the lay of the paced all night, waiting for the dawn to come, desperate with his countrymen to return to his homeland.

Legolas watched at dawn as he saddled his horse, fretting quietly with the stirrups and bellyband. He walked to his lover, stilling him with a touch, his anxious blue eyes searching Eomer's face.

"You must not hope for much," Legolas said quietly. "I have learned that to do so brings one much heartache."

Eomer paused, looking at Legolas with pained eyes and then pulled him into an embrace. They held each other tightly and then Eomer let him go, turning back to the saddle of his horse. He paused, looking at Legolas with dark and pain-filled eyes. "I have no hopes, Legolas, about my family or my country but I know now that I am the King of Rohan. I have to go and take stock of what's left. Hopefully, the Valar will deliver me the chance for revenge."

"I will go with you, no matter what comes," Legolas said quietly.

Eomer slipped an arm around his lover and pulled him in for a passionate kiss. Legolas kissed him back staring at Eomer with impassioned eyes as they quietly stepped back from each other. Legolas turned and mounted his horse, waiting for Eomer to do the same. Together, they sat side-by-side waiting for the orders to go.

Aragorn left the pavilion, walking to his men, nodding for them to mount up. They would be heading out first, going to the junction where the roads diverged and the army would pivot. The rain had stopped falling, the sky clearing slowly as they turned and began to ride through the camp. They were an impressive sight, grim-faced men of many lands and Aragorn nodded when Elladan and Elrohir joined them, hunters all.

Gil-galad watched them disappear from sight in the trees and congestion of the camp. Turning, he glanced into the tent, watching as Elrond rolled up their maps. They would set out in a half hour letting the scouts get some distance and then it would be nonstop for the next few days. If things went well and the opposition was fleeing as fast as watchers have said then the march to Mordor wouldn't take long. With a sigh, he turned and entered the pavilion once more.

***************Minas Tirith ...

Denethor stood at a window, staring out at the desiccated plain below. What had once been rolling plains, homes and farms was now a charnel field of trenches, destruction and the stench of rotting flesh. The orcs had not cleaned up their mess, leaving it where it was and the sight of it turned his stomach.

He turned and hobbled on his swollen feet, sitting once more in a chair. The city was being refortified, men coming out of hiding and the south lands once more. They came in numbers, telling odd tales about dreams that told them the city was free. He wondered about the Valar, about the dreams he himself had had, but nothing could persuade him of hope any longer.

His sons were gone, no one knowing of their whereabouts and he had no faith that he wasn't completely bereft of family. Imrahil had come, the Prince of Dol Amroth, coming out of the hills to regroup in the city. They were making repairs on the gate, which had been destroyed in the fighting hoping to make a stand again should the enemy come.

But they didn't, the enemy and it was most perplexing. Scouts said they were fleeing to the dark lands to the east. Many had died taking the city and those that had stayed had been sent in part elsewhere. More were coming, or so it was said, the Dark Lord growing them out of the ground. He himself had no truck with strange tales of magic, even if the evidence lay in pieces all around his feet.

His dreams kept coming, memories of his son, Boromir, and the youngest whom he had never treated well. Faramir was different, a wholly different nature and he had held the youngster at arms length the whole of his life. Boromir was his heir, his champion, his partner in the job of running the Kingdom. He, himself was faltering he knew, his own ambitions for his son in conflict with the duties of his station.

Denethor was the Steward, but never the king and his beloved son, Boromir, would never be either. What would it take for a man to become king? How many battles, how many times holding off the enemy would it take to become acclaimed?

Then the dream came and the dreaded premonition that their own days in power were numbered. The sword that was broken. The one who would wield it. Those things stuck daggers into his heart. His beloved son, Boromir, deserved to be king but in his heart and his mind, Denethor knew he never would.

Rankled is a small word for what he felt sometimes. Rankled is what he felt for privilege. Gandalf had bothered him, meddling with his business and winning the affection and respect of Faramir. Jealous is a word he would not say openly but it was a word that described his heart. He held Faramir to a different standard. He held him at arms length to punish him for turning to another when he had his own father. That he didn't acknowledge that he was guilty of pushing Faramir to seek others for comfort was something he would never ever admit outloud.

Dreams had been coming to him, dreams of his sons. Boromir was hearty and walked in the sunlight. Faramir was shrouded in shadow, always just out of reach when he called to him. He would wake up in a sweat, his heart pounding, sure that something terrible had happened to his boys. Then he would lie awake, unable to sleep until the light of the day came once more.

He would go to the window and stare to the east, where the blood red sky would pulse and churn. Beyond the mountains, over the horizon, the Beast was working for some terrible ends. He would stand and watch the sky, the barometer of the world and dread would suffuse him at the thought Sauron would return. Boromir, he would think. Boromir, come home.

***************The junction ...

There was sign of orcs and they led to the north, entering into the trees of the Wooded Realm. The road would take a third of the forces to the seat of Thranduil's power and battles would be enjoined in the forest about. They would fight room-to-room in the mountain fastness until the last corpse was dragged out after two bitter days.

They would post a garrison and then turn to the southeast, traveling to aid the army in Lorien. That force would fight with a tenacity unparalleled, killing the spiders that had crept into the void. At their side, slaying with abandon, Tulkas and Orome would assist them all. Fortwo more days they would battle their enemy until the last orc was dead and Dol Guldor in ruins.

Aragorn sat his horse, waiting for the word to withdraw, images of his heart home filling his mind. It was a shambles now the big trees denuded of the homes and the beauty that once graced them. But it was also denuded of the beastly monsters and evil creatures that had called it their new home.

A trumpet sounded and he turned his horse, leading his men to the front of the marching order. They were going southward, across the Brown Lands to the Mark of Rohan and Edoras. They made their way to the open lands, breaking into their wide riding scouting formation. Legolas and Eomer rode together, the big Rohirrim's eyes bent toward his homeland.

***************On the trail ...

They paused, eating cold food, resting their horses. Behind them the army of the Eldar was marching. Night was coming but they were determined to press onward, encountering as they went so very little of their foe. Boromir sat and stared at the sky, missing the bright star of the heavens. He glanced around and noticed Aragorn sitting the ground, leaning against a rock as he smoked his pipe. In his hand, he held Faramir's book and a sad expression graced his face.

Boromir felt pain suffuse him and he glanced away. They had not talked since Faramir's death, that ragged pain something he tried to avoid. Faramir had died saving the both of them, sacrificing himself for them. It seared him, the loss of his brother, the younger child he had helped to raise. Aragorn had loved him, this he could see. Faramir had found peace in his company. He owned Aragorn a great debt, even as he knew he could never articulate it to the quiet and solitary figure of his king.

Aragorn *was* his king, the liberator of their people and Boromir made a vow to serve him as best he could. They were comrades riding to battle and they fought side-by-side, two men with a common tie, the quiet eyes of a dead and much loved man.

Faramir lay on a hillside in a forgotten mountain meadow. Boromir made a vow to bring him home when this war was done. He hated that he had to leave him, the last place they had been together to leave him to lie in the cold, cold ground.

"Are you all right?"

Boromir looked up, meeting Eomer's concerned eyes. He nodded and moved slightly as the big man settled beside him.

"I wish I could say the same," Eomer replied nervously. "I am afraid to hazard what my kingdom is like now."

"And I, too," Boromir answered. "We are both the remnants of great traditions. It had to fall upon us, this end time."

"But for the Elves," Eomer said, glancing at and resting his eyes on Legolas.

"But for the Elves," Boromir replied, watching as Aragorn turned the pages of Faramir's book.

=0=


	6. Chapter 6

=0=

The city stood on the great outcrop of stone, a monument to the ages of man's determination to live well in difficult circumstances. Villages and farms dotted the area, all burned to the ground. Sign of the enemy was everywhere but they were missing in action. Footprints and other signs led to Mordor. They were fleeing, usually in great haste, as if the hounds of death were on their trail.

Aragorn led his men, riding across the plains and when they topped a nearby hill, they pulled up short. Meduseld still stood, tall and unscathed but the city was half burned, the other half still standing. For a few moments they sat, scanning the city and then Eomer spurred his horse, galloping like the wind. Other Rohirrim racing with him made for the city gate with abandon.

Aragorn hurried after them, sword pulled free and when they reached the open gate, they paused. Nothing was moving, banners of the Eye flapping in the gathering breeze, but the city was as still as a graveyard. They entered cautiously, unwilling to move hastily as they rode through the winding streets to the palace at the top.

Some houses were gutted and others desecrated evidence of boorish occupation everywhere. The horse lots were empty, all things of value taken or scattered, weeds choking the lanes and gardens of the houses. Meduseld stood before them, intact but neglected and Eomer leapt down and entered the building. His sword at the ready, his rage boundless, he helped search the building from top to bottom. It was empty, deserted and when they gathered again, it was with no news of his uncle, cousin or sister. Legolas stood beside Eomer as he digested his disappointment along with his rage over the destruction of his home. Turning, he looked at those gathered with him.

"I need to know of the King and Prince Theodred. I ..." he paused and gathered his dread and his despair. "I need to know of my sister."

They nodded and turned, beginning again but when it was over there was no more evidence than before. They stood on the steps, watching the horizon as the skyline began to fill with a great army. They marched in formation, moving toward the palace, an army bound for the city in the south.

***************That night ...

"There has not been much resistance," Gil-galad replied, sipping his wine as he sat in a chair in the Hall of the King. They had camped around the mountain watchers posted and waited for the dawn to come. Eomer had sat quietly, now defacto King of Rohan and when dinner was finished excused himself. Legolas watched him go and rose leaving the table following Eomer to a room in the back. It had been ransacked, very little left but heavy furniture but it had been his sister's room and to here he came for comfort and to despair in private.

Legolas hesitated at the door, watching as Eomer searched for some small thing that was hers. He turned his eyes wild and paused when he saw Legolas.

"Do you want me to go?"

"No," Eomer said, his voice breaking. "Please."

Legolas nodded and crossed the floor, enveloping his lover in his arms. For the next two hours they would sit on the floor while Eomer wept for his sister and told of her life.

***************Dawn ...

They gathered together, once more setting out, the first part of the army that Thingol led reaching the river beyond. They were coming to join him for the engagement ahead on the plains of Pelennor in the shadow of Minas Tirith. The others coming from the south would be nearing the rendezvous point where they would meet turned and with his men, rode off, moving ahead of the army to scout the way. Eomer rode near to him, sitting his horse with a stony expression as they left his country behind them. The only thing besides the task at hand and Legolas that meant anything to him was the burning and overpowering thirst for revenge. It had begun on the floor of Eowyn's room and would end in the courtyard of Barad-dur.

All he had to do was endure.

***************On the trail from the south ...

They moved onward, making excellent time. The expected battle at Isengard had never materialized. They moved onward, expecting conflict but it never came. Bodies they passed, orcs and others, one of them a pasty-faced man with black stringy hair. He had been caught in the open, his throat slit, a victim of the random chaos of war.

As they rode past his body lying where it fell none of the lords or soldiers knew him. No one short of Eomer would be able to tell them that the dead body was formerly known as Grima Wormtongue.

***************In the heavens ...

He watched with growing agitation, the abominations happening below. The world was in agony and it was all one person's fault. The armies of his beloved Eldalie were advancing upon his sanctuary but he could feel with the Ring the difficulties ahead. It might take years and many would die, so he considered something he had never asked before.

Manwe of Arda slipped from his shape and spirited away from the deck of Vingilot. He slipped away into the continuum of existence seeking the perfect thought of the One.

***************Near Osgiliath ...

Aragorn stared southward, toward the bend of the great river and the tortured city of Osgiliath. It had been Faramir's charge to save the city and they had talked about that failure together from time-to-time. They had talked of everything and anything, Faramir was a good listener and he found himself yearning for that quiet gaze and humorous re-joiner. He was lonely, more lonely than he could have imagined but he pushed it away, concentrating on the task at hand.

They were close to Faramir's city, the home of his birth. It would be harder and harder on him the closer they got. Boromir was a help, his strong and hardy support welcomed, but it wasn't the same. It never would be, he knew. Sighing, he tapped his horse's sides and continued onward, moving ever closer to the land he would rule.

***************On the trail ...

The wind was growing, blowing against their backs, almost as if the elements were conspiring to help them cross the plains. Battles in the south had been spare to non-existent, the enemy merely fleeing eastward. In the north, in Mirkwood, there was vicious fighting as fell beasts and spiders resisted them. They were overcome and the depths of Dol Guldor cleansed before those forces marched post haste to the lands of Rohan.

They were converging together, each of them keeping their part of the bargain, making for the plains of the Pelennor Fields. By the time Aragorn reached Osgiliath, it was a rain-soaked ruin, the bones of the dead laying scattered in the street. Boromir's face was ashen as they crept through that graveyard, heading for the bridge that would take them across the river.

Bridges built by orcs littered the river, affording the armies coming an easy crossing. They waited in the shelter of a shattered building, as in the gathering darkness torches could be seen. The first stages of the army were coming and soon they would be camping in the wreckage of the city streets. Boromir was speechless his expression telling his feelings as he stood alone near a dripping eave.

Aragorn walked toward him, gingerly standing beside him, waiting for him to say anything he needed to say.

"This place was once beautiful," he whispered, glancing at Aragorn. "This was my brother's station. He was to defend this city. He did, mostly, as much as could be had."

Aragorn nodded, sorrow piercing him. "It was all too much."

Boromir nodded. "We had no hope. I remember winning back the city once but here we are, standing in the ruins. All around us, nothing but death and ruins. It didn't matter did it. It didn't matter that Faramir tried so hard. It couldn't be held. My father ..." He paused, grimacing slightly. "My father is dead."

Aragorn sighed and squeezed Boromir's arm. The big man turned, a fleeting look of gratitude on his face. "I guess that is the least I can say. Who among us hasn't lost someone in this war?"

Aragorn nodded a gentle look of compassion on his face. "Then we make them pay."

Boromir nodded, turning to look out into the gloom of the darkening sky. "Yes, we will."

***************At the river ...

They crossed the Entwash, skirting Edoras, the White Mountains shimmering in the distance. They were blood red as the sun began to set, shadowing them with colors unnatural. Thranduil rode beside his father, an impressive sight in his cold-faced rage. Fionwe and the others rode before them, each of them in their position of rank in the marching order.

This was the land that his son had crossed on the way to his death in the south. Legolas, his beloved son died in agony at the hands of the Beast. He would never rest, he would never have peace until they were all destroyed off the face of the earth. His father rode beside him, a copy of his agony and together they would ride into battle again.

The wind was brisk against their back as they rode and eagles circled high in the air. The elements were with them, he considered as he glanced upward at the clearing sky. The clouds were leaving and the sun's warmth was welcome as they made their way to the rendezvous at Osgiliath.

It couldn't come too soon.

***************In the twilight of Osgiliath ...

He sat on a rock, unable to sleep, fatigue covering him like a shroud.

"You should be sleeping."

Aragorn looked up, smiling slightly to Gimli, the Dwarf moving to sit next to him. "It is hard to do."

"That it is," Gimli agreed. "I, myself, can sleep standing up."

Aragorn smiled. "I guess you can."

"You seem not quite yourself." Gimli shifted, uneasy with private discussions. "I know we have had a hard time but I'm just a little bit worried about you that's all."

Aragorn sighed and looked down at the Dwarf, smiling slightly. "I'll be all right."

"Probably," Gimli replied, staring straight ahead. He shifted again. "I just figured that you were nervous about the future, that's all. After all, the talk is that you will be the next King of Gondor. That would make any man nervous."

Aragorn nodded, smiling. "I suppose it would."

Gimli smiled and rose, turning and pausing for a moment. He turned and looked at Aragorn with affection. "You do know, don't you, laddie, that you have many friends and they are with you come what may."

Aragorn nodded, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "I do, Gimli."

Gimli nodded and hesitated then he turned and walked to the place where he would sleep. Aragorn watched him go, loving him at that moment like the brother that he was. Then he turned to the night, his hand touching the book that he kept in his pocket as he waited for the morning's light to come.

**********Morning, near to the dawn ...

They stood in the pavilion going over all possible access points to the city beyond. The scouts had been sent out and were due back soon. Elrond and Gil-galad considered the myriad pitfalls of crossing unexplored territory. Boromir and Aragorn filled them in on the details of the first battle, when the tide had gone against them and the city fell. It had been a charnel house and they had little new news beyond the first reports of Fionwe's approach.

The weather had cleared off but the wind was relentless, the restless ruminations of Manwe ever present. The sun was shining, the shadows pushed back, the leaching of color quelled. It had been disturbing the first time he had seen it and Boromir was relieved to see a more normal cast to the world again. It gave him heart now when he really needed it and he listened to the plan as it was described.

"We could explore what is happening," he suggested in a lull in the conversation. All eyes turned to him and he rose. "Few know the city the way I do. Let us go and see what is amiss there. It is too quiet by half if the orcs are still here. If the city is open, we can save ourselves battle and time."

Aragorn nodded and Gil-galad as well.

"Go to the city. Scout it. Tell us what you will," Gil-galad said, watching as the two men rose and turned to go. "Come back alive."

They nodded and left, Gimli, Eomer and Legolas rising from where they waited outside the house that was headquarters for the army command. They mounted up and turned riding out of camp, Halbarad joining them. By the time they reached the edge of the city Elladan and Elrohir had silently joined them.

They crossed the river and rode toward the city, passing over much destruction and skirting skeletons of indeterminate creatures. The city rose before them, a glorious monument to man's ingenuity and tenacity, seven levels of occupation bearing the scars of war.

They paused on the rammas, then crossed it riding with swords and bows drawn meeting no resistance as they cautiously approached. There were trenches that reeked of horrible smells, bodies of the dead and weapons scattered everywhere. The road was blocked and they made their way carefully, searching in all directions for any sign of danger. But they didn't find it, so completely vacated were the enemy camps and when they came within sight of the guard on the gates they could see men on the ramparts.

They hailed the guards and they were hailed back, the gate parting slightly and a man rode out galloping his horse and careening to a stop before their group.

"Hail!" he called out, almost impossibly happy. "Who are you and where-"

He paused, staring with astonishment at Boromir. "Lord Boromir!"

Boromir spurred his horse forward, turning and gazing back at the river beyond. "Is the city free?"

"Yes, my lord," the man replied dazed in amazement. "It is free."

"And the surrounding area? What happened to the enemy?" Aragorn asked.

"They have fled. Prince Imrahil and his knights have returned and brought others. We are fortifying the city as best we can against the idea that they will be coming back."

Aragorn nodded and turned to Halbarad. "Go to the King. Tell him the news. Minas Tirith is in the hands of men."

Halbarad nodded and turned, riding as fast as he could back toward Osgiliath. Aragorn turned and looked at the guard. "We are coming into the city."

"Good," the guard replied, smiling at Boromir. "Your father will be pleased to see you."

Boromir started and looked at the guard in disbelief. "My father? He's alive?"

"Yes, Lord, he is," the guard replied with a smile.

Boromir looked around him, astonished surprise on his face. Then he spurred his horse and galloped for the gate. The rest followed, the guard behind them and they entered quickly, beginning the trek upward. Through each level they rode swiftly, through each gate they entered unhindered as through the city word spread. Boromir had returned, they cried, heartened beyond words that the hero of Osgiliath had returned alive.

When they reached the Citadel, they dismounted and hurried in, pausing in the ante way as Boromir took his bearings. He turned to a guard, Beregond of the city and grabbed his arm. "My father? Where is he?"

"In his chamber," the astonished man replied.

Turning, Boromir hurried up the hallway, turning corners and climbing stairs until he reached the chamber of his father. Opening the door, he stepped inside, searching the room for him. A man by a window turned, staring at Boromir with disbelieving eyes and then with tears in his eyes, Boromir rushed to his father and embraced him tightly.

***************Far away ...

They came to the entrance, a ragged group of people gathered together in the fall of the city. He was the defacto King, the default leader since the wounding of his father in the melee of escape. Theodred peered out watching the blue sky. Something felt different then it was before. The caverns had sheltered them, those known only to the Rohirrim, a fall back refuge in times of war. They had come here, gathering, his father in his arms and they had nursed their wounds as they rested. A scout had told him of a valiant army passing nearby and he had sent him to scout for more word.

Riding across the plains several more with them, Theodred saw his rider return. He watched as they came near to him and slowed their horses, a man and three Elves in full battle armor. He walked to them, addressing Ellan of Mirkwood and gave them his story and the tale of his need. They nodded and one rode back organizing relief, preparing to take the soldiers among them with them to the fight. The civilians would remain, given stores and provisions and they would be rescued when the fighting was over.

Theodred helped them, making a vow to his father that he would avenge their people with the last ounce of his blood. Then with seventy-five Rohirrim, he mounted his horse and rode with the Elves to the army beyond. He would ride for his father and his country and his people and he would avenge all of them for the murder of their country. But most of all he would avenge his cousins, Eomer and Eowyn lost from their knowledge since the siege of their city.

=0=

In the White City ...

Aragorn stood upon the ramparts staring out to the plains beyond considering the vast area that had been laid waste. Nothing that was living existed between himself and the walls beyond, the silver slip of the river a demarcation line between the living and the dead. The army would be coming, settling in to set up their base as beyond the walls of the city in the east Mordor would come to bear their wrath.

Turning, he looked upward at the standard flying in the breeze, the symbol of the Stewards who had guarded his legacy all the years of their long winter. Boromir was with his father telling him of the fall of Faramir and the conditions of the world as it stood now. He wondered if he would be mentioned for any of many myriad reasons and he pushed it out of his mind as he considered the future.

It was strange to think there was to be one, so deadly had the past year been to hope but it was there a small flicker of light on the horizon of his hithertofor darkened life. He had made agreement to make the peace, using his own body and mind to garner the outcome, agreeing to wed Arwen in principle. His soul was his own and he had given it to another, someone he would never see again. This was Faramir's city, the place of his raising and Aragorn was surrounded with echoes of his all- to-short life.

The Wise of the World wanted to change the rules, to make it possible for each kindred to co-exist with the other and he was the page upon which the deal would be written. Arwen and Aragorn, sacrifices for the many, giving up the only life he himself ever would have to make it so. She would linger on when he died all things being equal and whatever children they might have would pick up his scepter and carry on. The line of kings would be unbroken and the joining of both peoples reconstituted. At least it was consolation that she would be able to go west after his doom.

He, himself would eventually fall into the void or wherever men went when the world for them ended. He didn't care so resigned was he to his fate that even that last adventure held no fear for him now. Grim-faced and silent he stood at the ramparts staring out into the gathering gloom.

Nearby, watching quietly, Boromir stood debating with himself whether to speak with Aragorn so unwilling was he to disturb his silence. Then he sighed and stepped forward pausing by the walls, leaning his elbows on the stonework.

"How is your father?" Aragorn asked.

"He is recovering from many months in prison," Boromir replied, relief in his expression and his voice. "I am beyond words with my own surprise and delight."

Aragorn nodded, turning his gaze outward once more. "That is good."

"My father knows of you and who you are. I told him that I would not become Steward. He is not completely at peace with that prospect yet. He wanted to see that our line continued with me."

"And you, Boromir? Did you want it to continue? Did you ever want to be king?" Aragorn asked.

"Truly?" he asked, regarding Aragorn evenly.

Aragorn nodded. "Truthfully."

"Yes," Boromir replied. "I wanted to be king. I wanted it and Faramir knew it too. He never did, my brother. He was a gentle person, given to books and other pursuits. I think he was the best man I ever knew."

Aragorn looked away emotion welling in his heart. He nodded. "I think so too."

"He saved my life, my brother." He paused, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "I never got to tell him goodbye. He spoke but I never caught the words he said."

"He said, 'Sacrifice,'" Aragorn replied. He stared into the darkness, unwilling and unable to meet Boromir's gaze.

Boromir nodded. "He sacrificed himself for you and me. I feel a debt that sometimes is so heavy I feel crushed from the weight of it." He sighed, his eyes burning with unshed tears. "I never told you that I was surprised that he was with you ... in that way."

Aragorn stared at his hands, unwilling to meet Boromir's eyes.

"I am glad though that he was. He seemed happy when he was with you. That makes it easier to bear, that he had happiness for a while. I don't think that he had a lot of that growing up. Our father was ... he wasn't fair."

"Nothing is fair, is it?" Aragorn asked. "If it were fair, he would be alive and none of this would have happened."

"But then you would never had met him or known him. That wouldn't be something you would seek, would it?"

"No," Aragorn whispered, sighing sadly. "I wouldn't have wanted that."

"I know," Boromir said, his voice filled with tears. "I miss him, my brother. I helped raise him. We were close. He was my ..." Boromir paused and swallowed hard. "He was my truest friend."

Aragorn turned and embraced Boromir, holding him as he himself was held. High in a tower standing by the window a grief-stricken father watched alone.

***************That night ...

They came and camped, clearing away debris and other hindrances, making the ground fit once more for habitation. The officers and captains of the great army met in the Citadel of the great city. Dinner was simple but the company was elegant and much conversation lay about the next phase of their plan. Fionwe and his army was sighted by outriders and the news was that they would arrive in a day and a half. That would be a good thing because it would allow the armies to gear up and rest, while scouts checked out the access points to the Demon's own land.

***************Late that night ...

They shared a room given their rank in the Citadel itself. It had a bed and they lay together resting from strenuous excursions into love and lust. Legolas sighed, Eomer shifted and the moon outside the window was large and round.

"We will be going against the Beast in days," Legolas said. "I am hoping that the Valar come with us."

"I think they must already be there," Eomer said, his head resting on Legolas' stomach. "The enemy runs like scared children. Something is hunting them besides us."

"My father and grandfather most likely," Legolas said smiling in spite of himself. "My father is a formidable man."

"I am glad for you, Legolas. No matter my own sorrows, just know that."

Legolas stroked Eomer's soft golden hair. "I grieve for you, gwador*. Every day I grieve for you."

"It cannot be undone," Eomer said moving to lie alongside the lanky form of his lover. He slipped a leg over Legolas' body, his arm around his waist tightening his grip. Moving closer, he nuzzled Legolas' chin kissing his mouth when he turned his head. "All there is for me and you is now."

"Such are the thoughts of mortals," Legolas whispered, turning to face his lover. He ran his hand down Eomer's muscular thigh, grown strong and smooth with muscles from years of riding every day. "I am sorry for your grief."

"And I, you when you were suffering," Eomer replied with a sigh. He leaned forward and kissed Legolas' mouth savoring his lips, slipping his arms around his lover's strong masculine body. He rolled over, pressing Legolas into the soft mattress, the worn sheets as if satin to his overheated skin.

"More," Legolas whispered, wrapping his strong lean legs around Eomer's broad body as strong fingers threaded through his long golden hair. "I need more."

Strong hands gripped him, pulling him ever closer to his own body as Eomer complied. He devoured Legolas' lips, his hand pulling the Elf's face closer to him. He couldn't get enough of the sweetness of his mouth and he sighed, pausing as he stared into blue eyes smoky with desire."I never believed that folk like you existed outside of children's tales. To hold you close to me makes a lot of my heartaches fade."

Legolas gently pushed him over, straddling him and pressing his hands down onto the bed. He leaned forward and kissed Eomer, sitting over him like a pale and beautiful apparition from a dream. The moonlight haloed his head, his golden hair soft and silken in the dim light. "I am here. I am not going anywhere. Do not fear, Eomer, that I will leave you."

Eomer swallowed hard, his eyes stinging with tears. He nodded and Legolas leaned down settling against his body once more. Eomer rolled over, lying alongside his partner, giving to him all the emotion and love he could find in his soul. For a while, the shadows faded and the world wasn't in ruins around them. For a while there was only the two of them, alone.

***************In a room nearby ...

Aragorn left his family at last, that is the collection of names from the ancient books of his schooling made real. They were flesh and blood, filled with tales and ready to tell them as they celebrated so far their progress into the east. Thingol and the rest would be here in the morning and then Legolas would have his father once more.

He stood by his window, staring up at the moon, the silver jewel in his hands once more. She had given it to him, a gift from her heart and he had worn it next to his for a very long time. But things had changed. The *world* had changed and he wasn't the same person that he was once before. She expected his love and he would try to give it or, whatever was left from the death of his heart.

Faramir ...

He couldn't release the memory and it haunted him here in the house where he had been raised. He imagined Faramir as a child and youth running here and there in the Citadel and it tore at him, his sadness almost overwhelming as he stood and waited for the push eastward.

He stared at the jewel and remembered the night she gave it to him and the kiss he had given in return. It was a heavy burden to know that she loved him and that perhaps at last he couldn't return it. It was as if there was a line dividing his old life from his new one and there was no way to scale the walls again.

It hurt, this difference but he knew it was permanent and there was nothing he could do about it even if he wanted. That he didn't want to do more or to do better about it was the indication that he himself was irretrievably changed. He considered Elrond and his own situation. He loved another but was married to his wife. The Eldar didn't take their vows lightly, divorce so extremely rare as to defy recollection.

Even remarriage was tricky with the death of a spouse, the Valar holding vows of marriage sacred. It was an unbreakable bond taking debate on rare occasions amongst themselves to set a surviving spouse free. But he wasn't married except perhaps in his heart and there was nothing to debate. He was the King. Hard tasks come to hard men and he would do his duty carrying off the wishes of the Wise. If he had melancholy moments as an outcome of the decision then he would have to make the best of his life.

Turning and staring at the moon, he considered the future. It was not a given that he would survive this fight. The demon would not go easily and even with divine intervention, it was going to be a battle that they might not sighed and turned, walking up the stone stairway to the room that he had that was his alone. He would spend the night sleeping fitfully and after a light breakfast at dawn, he would help to welcome the army of Fionwe son of Manwe and Elbereth the Beautiful.

*******In the middle of the second day ...

They came toward the city, their banners flying, a great army moving swiftly eastward. Horns greeted them and horns returned their trumpets as the army of the Eldar made their way to the camps. Fionwe led them with his captains and his heralds, among them Thranduil and Oropher of the Wooded Realm. Lords of the First Age and eons before that sat straight in the saddle as they passed into view.

People from the city and the surrounding villages, more and more streaming in every day watched them go in an eerie silenc as if witnessing a dream that could disappear like smoke. At the gate of the city waiting in borrowed armor Denethor and Boromir of Gondor stood. Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth and his stately knights were guards of honor to the greatness that came forward.

Fionwe and his herald, the kings of many generations all paused before the city as a token of respect. Gil-galad and Elrond, Turgon, Thingol and Glorfindel stood beside Denethor as they welcomed their guests. It was silent with respect and awe as Fionwe descended his horse walking with a smile on his face toward the Steward. Behind him watching with intense quietude, Gimli, Aragorn, Legolas and Eomer stood gazing upon the incredible spectacle of Manwe's own son.

They greeted each other, Denethor and Boromir gracious and turning, they welcomed their visitors inside. Walking together, they began the long traverse to the Citadel that was seven levels above. For seven hundred feet they would ascend upward until at last they reached their destination and a dinner in their honor.

Legolas stood watching, his keen eyes searching until at last he saw the one he wanted to see. Thranduil walked beside his father and when he glanced to his left, froze in his tracks at the sight of his son alive. Emotions passed over his face, vivid and dreadful and then he moved to embrace the son he thought he'd lost.

Aragorn watched them deeply gratified by the sight as beside him Eomer stood with a smile. He glanced at Aragorn and then turned to walk back up when a voice called to him, a voice filled with joy. He turned and saw a warrior standing near to the gate, Gamling of Edoras, his uncle's strong right hand. He smiled and walked toward him, embracing him with joy and listened with disbelief as Gamling told of the retreat from Edoras. He learned that his cousin, Theodred was alive and that his uncle, Theoden, was as well. Tears nearly fell when they said they last track of Eowyn in the battle with Nazgul that confounded them at the end.

Aragorn turned and followed the leadership, moving up the winding streets feeling as lonely as he ever had before. No one was waiting for him, no one that he any longer wanted and there would be no happy reunions for him this time. Only duty awaited, duty and obligation and so he bottled his sorrows and continued upward, bound by an ancient oath to serve his people with all the strength he possessed.

The sun was warm on the battlements by evening when the conversation and planning finally gave way. People left and others gathered together as the evening began to end. Legolas excused himself going with his father and grandfather, staying with them overnight in their camp. Eomer and Gimli sat together playing chess from a set that had been salvaged from a pile of cast off belongings.

Everyone had someone and so he walked to the verandah, staring out at the forest of flickering lights that covered the plains before the city above. Hundreds of campfires, thousands of torches, they shed a shimmering spectacle for those above. He stared at the lights unaware that someone watched him until he noticed another standing by his side.

He turned and nodded, Elrond beside him and they stared together for a moment in silence.

"I despaired of ever seeing you again, Estel.""And I, you, my lord," Aragorn replied.

Elrond smiled and sighed deeply. "It is a world overturned from the possible to the impossible. I am at the head of an army led by a Valarindi, the son of Manwe and Elbereth to be precise. I am still in shock over that possibility."

"And I too, my lord," Aragorn replied, smiling slightly. "I am sorrow-filled to hear of the house, that you had to light it with your own hand."

"It was necessary. I had no wish for my home to be invaded by beasts," Elrond said. "I was pleased to get my daughter oversea before things became too terrible."

"I too am glad that she went to her kinfolk," Aragorn replied, nodding.

"They have discussed with me a change of thought," Elrond hesitantly began. "They speak of rapprochement between our two worlds. They speak of rapprochement between our two peoples. I am not sure you have heard."

"I have," Aragorn said, staring up at the moon.

"My daughter is filled with love for you. To have her choose between a mortal and immortal life was more than I could bear. I had nothing but affection and trust for you but I did not want her to linger in the world when the last chance for her to live and remember faded from her grasp." He sighed. "Now it would seem that this would not have to be if the sundering sea allowed us to remain or go, returning and leaving as we see fit."

"That would make me happy, my lord. The world would be poorer indeed if your kind faded from it," Aragorn replied, his emotion heartfelt.

"I have always thought so. I regretted so deeply that my brother had to make a choice such as he did. I despair of his absence from my life even after all these long, lonely years." He looked at Aragorn. "You remind me of him, his strength and moral clarity."

Aragorn glanced at him, then looked at the sky. "Moral clarity. Does that exist anymore?"

"It does, my son," Elrond sighed. "My king feels the heat of it himself even as he struggles with his own demons. He would wish the option for his people, the option of remaining here and coming and going from Aman. It is his duty to work for the good of his people to the exclusion of his own private joys."

"It is the burden of kingship," Aragorn agreed.

"You will be king, of that I am convinced. You will wear the crown and rule the reunited kingdom. Peace shall prevail among the people and between us there will be a world as it was meant to be. This time in this place we get another chance."

"And I? What do I get?" Aragorn asked, probing Elrond a small bit.

Elrond sighed, nodding. "You will get my beloved daughter."

Aragorn silently sighed and looked out at the ocean of lights flicking in the light evening breeze. "I will get Arwen and the world will get what it needs. We are the altar upon which the sacrifice for peace is made."

Elrond nodded, his expression sad. "It is the lot of my family to be torn asunder in matters of the heart."

"The king," Aragorn whispered half to himself.

Elrond turned and looked at the lights, nodding slightly. "I am impaled on a conundrum myself, torn apart by my heart and my duty."

"Celeborn said that his daughters were sad to him, women that loved men who could not give them love back."

Elrond smiled a bitter smile. "He is correct. It is their sorrow and our shame. I do not know what will become of me but I beg you to give my daughter what you can." He stopped, his face a mask of pain and then it vanished. "It can be done and maybe you will remember what you felt. She *deserves* to be loved, Estel."

Aragorn nodded and sighed. "I will be as true as I can be, my lord, and I give you my promise to do so all my life."

"Then that is good enough for me because I know that is all that can be asked," Elrond said, glancing up at the sky. "I met my father and mother for the first time since I was a child."

Aragorn nodded and looked at the sky, the star missing still in the firmament.

"I was filled with love for them, a sense of abandonment disappearing," Elrond mused. "I told them of my brother as best I could."

Aragorn nodded, sighing softly. "I am glad, my lord, that you have your family again."

"It would have been better if Elros had been there."

Aragorn squeezed Elrond's hand and they stood together, talking about family and the days to come. They would never discuss Arwen and Aragorn's duty again.

**********In the camp at the same time ...

It took Eomer two hours to find Theodred and the encampment of the Rohirrim that formed part of the bivouac. He gripped Theodred so tightly that he groaned. They sat and talked for several hours, catching up on what had happened.

The Rohirrim in the City and the Household Guard had gathered and pulled the family and everyone else they could out of the fighting that had engulfed Edoras. They had fled, running away from the obvious hideaway of Helms Deep and finding sanctuary in a little known but well provisioned series of caves and caverns that was kept for longterm sojourns for their people when in the southwest of their country.

They had holed up, caring for their wounded including Theoden. He had been injured and they had carried him away, nursed him back to middling health in the safety of the tunnels. Theodred was defacto king and had governed their recovery, going out with teams in the night to round up and bring to safety all of their people that they could find. That is how they found the army marching toward Gondor and the fight with Mordor.

He was himself well and spoiling for a fight. He had seen Eowyn facing a Nazgul, the smoke and carnage obscuring his view. But when the fighting permitted he had made his way toward where he had seen her last and found a Nazgul and his steed lying dead on the ground. It was the Witch King killed by other than the hand of "man". He knew Eowyn had done the deed but he couldn't find her falling back to take his father and the others away. They were going to be riding to battle with the others adding their ferocity to the overall impact. Nothing burned in him more than the thought of revenge.

"Meduseld still stands."

Relief flooded Theodred's handsome face. "Thank the Valar."

"Thank them indeed," Eomer replied. "They are here with us. The army is led by the son of Manwe."

"How can we fail?" Theodred replied.

Eomer nodded grimly. How indeed could they?

****************In the Land of Mordor ...

He walked through the hordes of beasts lying sleeping or arguing on the ground, unseen and undetected. He was searching for one who was the master of all spurning the small potatoes for the main course. In the dark tower ahead, the one he sought hid from his relentless pursuit. He would bide his time waiting for the fatal mistake that inevitably gave him the upper hand and while he waited he would fell as many of the creatures that littered the ground around him as he could.

Tulkas smiled as he walked among the creatures, sorting out in his mind what he would do. They had talked together, all the Valar, debating what to do and he had come to Middle-earth to make his own contribution. Waiting and moving with stealth, it was not the way he usually fought. He was not given to subtleties. But this was different. The creature in the tower was someone he wanted for himself. He would wait, as asked by Manwe, for the honor.

In time, he told himself. In time all good things come. With a smile and light step, he walked around the tower of Barad-dur, considering the future ahead.

=0=

The dawn came quietly, the smell of rain in the air. The atmosphere was electric as they walked to their horses. It had the air of explosions, the feeling of a coming thunderstorm hanging over them. The air had been charging all night long, like some force gathering in one confined space. They could all feel it and Fionwe merely smiled, aware that unseen giants were gathering on their side.

The mountain in the distance was spewing fumes, red lights flashing as it made its own lightning. It glowed, an unworldly color supported by dark clouds adding an ominous focus to their task ahead. Aragorn mounted up, the chill in the air reminding him of a cold spring deluge and glanced around at his men.

Eomer and Legolas were there, as was Gimli, Theodred and many Rohirrim and his Gray Company as well. Halbarad sat astride his horse, Elladan and Elrohir beside him, while Gamling and Beregond climbed into the saddle. They were the advanced forces, scouts for the army which was gearing up in the distances and horses, Elves and their captains all broke their respite and began to get ready. A very great and powerful army was gathering to move, heading toward the rabble of the Beast in the Dark Lands. The Nazgul were not there to haunt them, the orcs had fled. No one knew what the situation was like beyond their borders.

Aragorn and his men were going to find out and when Glorfindel joined him, he nodded to go. They rode out, grim-faced and determined all of them ready to fight to the death. Unaware to their sensibilities others went with them, Ainur and Maiar unclothed and wrath-filled. Invisible to their senses they journeyed with their comrades, the First-and-Second Born of the World's beginning, marching and moving with grace and with intentions to drive great evil from the land one last time.

In the air, unseen above them Manwe stood beside Earendil, the great ship Vingilot sailing in the sky toward the east. Forces were gathering and the wind was increasing as the wrath of the King of the World was felt at last.

********On a hillside near the Black Gate ...

They lay on the hillside staring down at the gate, which was surprisingly half ajar and unattended. Footprints led inwards or southward, the telltale signs of chaos in the ranks of the enemy. Men of all persuasions had fled the Dark Lord, fearing the wrath of the Valar more than they feared him. Many had stayed but fled into the Dark Lands, moving toward Barad-dur and the one they served.

They crept down, moving with great care and found that the gate was unattended. They climbed the great staircases, finding the pulley mechanism that opened it. Great trolls had done that labor and they were without a possibility of making it open wider without them. Aragorn dispatched riders to tell the advancing army that the door was at least open to the lands took up positions and waited, scanning the area for trouble and found none as they crouched in the hot midday sun.

********On the trail ...

Elrond nodded and took the message, moving toward Gil-galad and the leadership. He told them the news, that the gate was ajar and Fionwe smiled nodding enigmatically. They rode onward, the greatest host ever assembled behind them, and by the time they reached the plain that led to the gate the ground was covered as far as the eye could see with the banners of Rohan, Lothlorien, Imladris, Gondor, Dol Amroth and the lands of the Valar beyond the sea.

They waited for a moment, outriders going to-and-fro as they surveyed the lands before them. Great dark mountains stretched from the gates on both sides, barriers to their might as they approached en masse. The gate was ajar and they could see their scouts standing on the iron walls, signaling that the area was clear.

Fionwe smiled and turned, looking off to his left as if waiting to see something no one else saw. For ten minutes he sat and then they all could see it an army was approaching from the north of them. Elrond glanced at Gil-galad and the King at him as they waited for the view to improve. At last it did and they all relaxed for an army of Dwarves was approaching.

Standing on the wall the scouts had seen it sooner than the rest of the army on the plain below. Gimli cried out, turning to his companions. "They are coming! You see them! They cannot stay from the fight!"

Legolas smiled and clapped Gimli on the shoulder, shaking his head with amusement. "This is going to be a glorious day," he said smiling at Eomer. "This is as in the olden days."

"It is," Eomer replied.

They watched as the army came down from the horizon throwing in their lot with the army of Elves. Turning, they paused and then the leadership rode forward Fionwe at the front. They paused before the gate and Fionwe raised his arms and held them still. The gate groaned and then began to open, moving of its own volition to open fully wide.

Aragorn and the others watched as it moved and then hurried down the steps to their horses once more. Beyond in the dusky light of the plain, a sea of orcs awaited them. They would be the eyes and ears of the approaching army and so they rode on ahead as the army poured through the gate.

=0=

She stood on the beach staring out at sea, her grandmother beside her. Arwen watched the choppy waves aware of the discord in the world around her. The Valar were in agreement that the Little Kingdom should be saved and they let their decision bleed into the essence of the earth.

"The gods are moving against the Dark One," Galadriel said, turning to her granddaughter. "The Beast will not stand against their great wroth."

Arwen nodded, turning to her grandmother a weak smile on her face. "All that I love are riding against him. I fear that I may be bereaved before the end."

"You love him."

She nodded. "I have hope, Grandmother. I have hope that there can be a life again, that the good that once was can be preserved."

"I hear children's laughter when I think about you," she replied standing closer to her granddaughter. "I see the delight and smiles of children."

"Then he will live?" Arwen asked a tear trickling down her cheek.

"I believe it will be so," Galadriel replied. She slipped her arm around Arwen's waist holding her closer as they stared out to see. What she didn't tell her was the long silences and sadness that was so large a part of Aragorn's heart now. That she would have to find out on her own if ever. She would never be able to tell Arwen herself.

***************Barad-dur …

He stared into his palantir watching as the army of the Powers made their way towards him. Sauron thought long and furiously considering there was little he could do to sway them. What he could do was outlast them. His fortress was impregnable he himself had made sure and they would have to siege him and his terrible black darkness.

Orcs stayed out of the sight of his cruel eyes, the sheer terror such looks gave to all who were foolish to meet his gaze was overwhelming. Despair, death and defeat came from his looks and he considered what he would do to even the odds between them.

There was little that he could do and he paced in a rage of such deep fury that the aura of it leeched through the walls and seeped out into the surrounding environs. His orcs quailed, his men cried to the heavens and cast around for a way to flee.

As ever in the courtyard a figure stood waiting impatient to do what he had been promised was his task alone. Tulkas stood unseen but felt by those that shied away from the spot where he waited, ever ready to take down the demon behind the thick and shining walls of Barad-dur.

********In the battle beyond the gate ...

They engaged the enemy on the plain before the tower, Gorgoroth's pitted and desiccated lands embroiled with war. Orcs, caught between Sauron and the forces of Fionwe fought like demons or ran away. They fled in great numbers toward the southeast, toward the Sea of Nurnen and the empty lands beyond. The mountains ringed them in and they had no place to go that someone didn't pursue them with sword and bow.

In the midst of the battle, along the front of their lines figures appeared with wrath and vigor. Orome and Olorin, others unnamed assisted in the fighting in the hottest contested places. The enemy fell back terrified of the spectacle of facing unearthly powers over which they could not win. The tide pressed back, the army surged forward and soon the rocky mountains that framed Barad-dur could be seen.

Aragorn fought on foot abandoning his horse, his sword singing as he moved ever forward. Turgon was on his right and Gil-galad and Elrond on his left as they cut a path through to the tower beyond. Legolas and Gimli, ever side-by-side moved forward with the Rohirrim while armies of Dwarves, their axes swinging in wide arcs made a broad clear path along the length of their line. Not since ages untold had Elf and Dwarf fought in such a way and today the memory of it would help them prevail.

The wind blew against their backs, eagles soared overhead and everywhere the whispers of unseen beings were heard. Women and men, exhorting them forward with sighs and encouragement were ever whispering in their ears. They moved forward following the banner of Fionwe, surging to within a league of the tower.

The horns blew, trumpets sounded and the cries and shouts of great multitudes rent the air. The ground grew slippery with blood from the dead and the dying and corpses littered the field of battle. Screams seemed surreal, smells almost too powerful to withstand gripped the soldiers and horsemen engaged on the ground. It stretched out, becoming almost slow motion as they pushed forward nearly as one.

Then it all stopped, the surging armies and the battlefield became quiet almost all at once. Aragorn stood in the mud, his sword in his hand, his blood rushing loudly in his ears. He was panting with effort and adrenaline, his eyes turned toward the leadership as they paused before the straight path that led to the door.

No one seemed to breathe, no one seemed to move. The big organic mass of soldiery paused as if one single living thing. On the pathways ahead standing as if statues were a number of figures that were larger than life. Aragorn stumbled forward, pausing beside Elrond, himself disheveled and silently watching. The forces at work, the unseen brethren that had accompanied them had begun to show themselves.

Aragorn recognized Tulkas and struggled to know the others as one by one they materialized on the path leading to the doorway of the tower before them. It was huge and malevolent but the calmness and humor of the figures gathering gave him a strange sense that something good and final was going to happen before them. Elrond turned to him, his face filled with satisfaction and awe.

"Tulkas, I recognize," Aragorn whispered moving closer to Elrond as the tension began to rise. Overhead, the clouds black and sullen, gathering together as if expressing their own rage began to force out the sun. The air crackled with electrical anticipation as the army of the free peoples watched with growing concern.

"That one is Orome," Elrond whispered nodding to another, brawny and wrathful. Beside him another appeared Aule the Smith, bringing a murmur of appreciation and respect from Gimli nearby. Others appeared, Maiar spirits, all of them gathering around Tulkas himself.

Clouds rolled in the heavens and the sound of thunder broke the stillness as rain began to pour from the sky. Ulmo weighed in, his wrath falling heavily creating a mire for the enemy to tread. Fionwe stood watching, his eyes rising to the heavens as lightning split the sky. It cast fierce brittle rays of light among the morass and then darkness fell once again.

The wind picked up as the rain fell harder and then the clouds rumbled as if alive. Nothing showed itself in the tower, the Beast fearing to come to the windows to watch the world conspire against him. Tulkas grew bright, his countenance almost blinding and then he moved forward slowly his laughter clearly heard. The orcs that hadn't fled melted away before him, running with searing madness to the east.

He reached the door and held out his hand light emanating from his fingers striking it. It built up and then the door melted away, flowing into the dark soil around the steps. He ran inside disappearing immediately and others followed as well. Lights burst forth, pouring out of the window like brilliant arms reaching for the sky. Up they went, a record of Tulkas' progress until they reached the top of the incredible fortress.

The thunder rolled and the sky roiled, like a snake coiling for a terrible strike. They shrank on the ground uncertain of what to expect but Fionwe merely stood calmly staring at the sky. Lightning crackled, illuminating the scene and then faded, leaving them in the dark once more. It was unnaturally dusky, unnaturally eerie but no one moved or pulled away.

Spirits appeared white and glowing, some floating in the air, some standing on the ground. They stared at the tower as if concentrating their thoughts upon it, making their will known to those inside. The ground began to rumble as deep in the earth oceans of water surged in tumultuous spasms. Ulmo roared beneath their feet and overhead Manwe made his anger felt.

Aragorn stood transfixed, his heart in his throat as the outcome of the battle slipped from their hands. More and more Maiar, more shimmering figures appeared and then by his side Olorin materialized. He smiled at Aragorn then turned to watch as the ring of bright lights encircled Barad-dur.

A wailing sound issued from the tower, a piercing shrieking sound of despair and then Tulkas appeared his face fey and dangerous as he dragged Sauron from his own tower and flung him onto the ground. Sauron rose and turned screaming with rage and Orome drew his sword and swung it with precision.

It arched its blade flashing and smote Sauron's hand severing it from his arm in a single stroke. He shrieked the sound beyond evil and all around him soldiers shrank back in fear. Fionwe stood his ground, his cloak billowing around him as he looked to the sky once again.

The clouds opened and a bright light pierced the darkness illuminating the two as they struggled together. Sauron grappled with Tulkas, unequal to his power and found himself face down with the Valar's foot on his neck. Orome reached down and picked up Sauron's hand, holding it and the Ring up high. Then the lightning broke the darkness and the spirits began to pulse, fading out one by one into nothingness. Tulkas gripped Sauron's neck and pulled him to his feet. His hideous face was contorted with pain and he cried out to his master, Melkor.

This blasphemy shattered the darkness with lightning and great daggers of light pierced the sky. They struck the tower, biting blasts of fire and the building shuddered and began to crack apart. Bolt after bolt, shattering wails of thunder, they cowered before the spectacle of the tower's violent death.

Implosions and explosions, flying rock and hissing flames, Barad-dur convulsed in its death throes. Tulkas turned Sauron, making him watch as all around them the debris of the tower fell like rain. Flames sputtered and hissed in the falling rain, the ground shivered with the wrath of Ulmo. Above them all, sailing down swiftly and silently, a white swan ship passed through the sky.

Manwe stood on deck, his cape flying behind him and he pointed his staff at the shivering demon. A pure light, white as snow issued from it and struck Sauron rendering him helpless before the onslaught. He fell to his knees but Tulkas dragged him up and then stepped backward to leave him alone. The lights of the heavens hit Sauron in force and he covered his eyes with his injured hands.

He cried out as the lights engulfed his body and he pulsed, shimmered and then faded away. His wailing cry lingered and then faded as well as Sauron was consigned forever into the abyss. Tulkas turned staring at the army, his laughter an incongruous sound in the shattering fury of elemental raging. Then he faded, as did the others one-by-one until the lights of the Valar had gone from the field.

Aragorn exhaled, unaware that he had held his breath and then turned to see Fionwe change as well. He glowed with a light as soft as the stars and then with a smile and nod faded away. Gil-galad turned, looking around him as above in the sky the clouds rolled away. The rain stopped falling and the breeze gentled as the day returned to the field of battle.

Nowhere could they see the bodies of their foes. Nowhere could they see any enemy at all. Beyond them in rubble lay the ruins of Barad-dur. It was as if they had come to fight and no one had come out to meet them. They stood stunned and amazed as they looked around. What was even more amazing was that in their midst all that had been killed before were well and intact. No one was lost, no one was killed.

Iluvatar had given back what Sauron had taken.

As it became clear to Aragorn, an irrational thought crossed his mind and he scanned around him for Faramir. No matter where he wandered that day and the next, no matter how hard he looked, Faramir was not among the miracles performed. That night as Aragorn wandered the camps looking the night star would show its silvery hues once more.

***************Six months later ...

He stood on the shores of the sundering sea, his crown and robes of kingly attire in place. A white horse stood waiting, his knights and lords of liege around him, waiting for the swan ship to come to the bay. Cirdan had gone for her bringing Arwen at last and the world of Men and Dwarves was there to greet her.

The kingdoms of Elves were in embryonic stages of rebuilding but Gondor and Minas Tirith was farther along. The world needed a spectacle, a reason to hope and so the wedding of two peoples was set to commence. A ship broke the mists sailing with great stateliness as Arwen of Imladris at last came home.

=0=

Twenty-five years later ...

He stood on the embankment staring out at the lake, sunlight like a field of diamonds sparkling upon its flat surface. He came here every late spring, a retreat from the burdens of his great office, seeking peace in the quiet greenery of this secluded place.

Around him flowers were budding, leaves were broad and green and the sound of birds could be heard as they hunted prey along the shoreline. It was a rustic spot, his alone, a gift of his station that he approved of without reservation. Few things he had chosen in the course of his life let alone family and children, though he had both now.

Arwen he had wed and between them they begot children, a strapping son and three lovely young daughters. They were like unto her, he had seen, their willowy grace and dark eyes speaking to him of the Firstborn. His son was like unto himself, tall and quiet with dark eyes and a sense of righteousness that made his father proud. Eldarion was the apple of his grandfathers' eyes, Elrond often visiting from his redoubt in the mountains of the Bruinen Valley.

His grandparents from Lorien doted on their grandchildren, having them into their Wood for stretches on end. He had family with him, friends from the Shire to Moria, comrades in the City and correspondence galore. But he was alone since her passing, that abrupt and dreadful day when Arwen Evenstar left his life. She had fallen from her horse, the meara stopping abruptly, the horse shying from a rabbit on the trail. She had landed hard, all his skill couldn't save her, Elrond himself arriving too late. She had been alive and vital, his friend and companion and then she was gone, leaving him behind to bear the grief alone. His children were shattered, coming from Lorien with their grandparents where they had been spending the summer. They greeted their father in tears, himself mute with grief and together they had born her to the shores of the sea. She was taken to Aman, to lie in sacred soil, leaving behind a family bereft of her love.

Aragorn had been shattered, unable to eat or sleep, tending to his children and the well-wishes of multitudes. His family from Valinor came to see them, spending time with Elrond and Celeborn as well. Then they had to leave and he was alone again. Eomer and Legolas had visited from the Mark and Gimli from Moria, where he was the King. Condolences arrived from the Shire and from elsewhere but they were poor consolation to the ones left behind.

He stared at the lake, memories old and cherished coming into this mind as he absorbed the sun's warmth.

"I have a vision."

Faramir.

He came to him now as he always did. This was his moment alone with the memory.

"I dream of a time when we can be together and the threat is not upon us."

"What do you see?" he had asked, holding Faramir in his arms.

"A summer's day by a lake some place. A summer's day and you and I together, walking along the shore by ourselves."

He came here every spring to be alone with that memory and to restore his equilibrium for the rest of the year. He stepped down from the embankment, his boots crunching on the cinders that made a path along the lakeside shore. He remembered as he walked, the words he had said in reply, swaying gently as they stood together.

"Some day if the world is not lost perhaps we can find our way to a lake some place, a lake dappled by the sun."

He had, coming here to a cabin that he had built himself, living simply and quietly in the solitude. Arwen had not asked him about it nor had she come with him, allowing him this respite from the pressures of their life. She had understood him well he knew, his complexities and his silences and had never intruded upon his need for this place.

He paused and closed his eyes, the sun warm upon his face. Birds called across the lake and he heard fish jumping in the water. The breeze was gentle and cool, refreshing and comforting and he stood absorbing the beauty around him. Turning, he continued, coming around a copse of trees when he paused, frowning slightly. His hand instinctively went to his belt, reaching for the sword hilt that wasn't there. He had left it on his bed, walking out unarmed secure in the privacy of his lakeshore retreat.

Someone was standing by the water, a tall and well-made man, his back to Aragorn. He wore simple gray clothing, trousers and tunic, but his feet were bare and he was unarmed. For a moment, Aragorn felt anger and then curiosity. He hesitated and then spoke up. "Who are you? This is a private sanctuary."

"Sanctuary," a soft voice spoke. He didn't turn, but stared out, silent, solid and strange.

Aragorn considered his actions for a moment and then stepped forward, off the trail. He walked to the stranger and stopped behind him, pausing uncertainly. He was tall and slim with shoulder-length blond hair tinged by red and wavy. Aragorn swallowed, willing impossible thoughts away and put his hand on the stranger's shoulder. "Who are you?" he asked turning the figure around.

Warm eyes met his, a soft smile greeted him and Aragorn was rooted to the spot. He stared, unwilling to hope and then with a shaking hand touched the cheek of the stranger before him."

Faramir," he whispered with a sigh.

=0= c2003/2010

Thank you for your time. This story concludes in Crusade Reprise


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